Don't Fear the Proving
by Juulna
Summary: The one where Mjolnir gets repaired, Thanos' minions come knocking, Tony gives a speech, and there's a road trip. That may or may not lead to kisses. Oh, and Tony just might be worthy of lifting Thor's old hammer after all... [Stony/Steve x Tony, Infinity War-divergent, Civil War Fix-It, more tags listed right at the top of the fic.]


_Here are the tags I used on AO3!_

 _Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Somewhat Compliant With Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War Fix-It, Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark Friendship, Unreliable Narrator, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Extremis, Extremis Tony Stark, United Nations, Sokovia Accords, The People Get A Say, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddles, Road Trips, Friendship/Love, Undercover as a Couple, Massage, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, The Battle For Mjolnir, Tony Stark Wields Mjolnir, Yep you heard me correctly, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Community: cap_ironman, Cap_Ironman Reverse Bang Challenge 2018_

 **Note: Hello everyone! I wrote this fic for the Cap-IronMan RBB (Reverse Big Bang, where writers create a fic based off of a piece or more of art). It was my first time writing for an RBB and I had a really good time with it! Thank you so much to the organizers/mods for this event-you're all amazing! (You can find them on Tumblr at cap-ironman.)**

 **I had the pleasure of working with Tumblr's Maniibear for this project, and let me tell you: their art is beautiful. What a talented and lovely person you are, Maniibear! Check their tumblr out and send them your love! (Also, they helped me with a lot of the early brainstorming, and that was great! Thank you!)**

 ** _A few notes on this fic_ so that you can understand the setting differences between this and the actual IW movie:**

 **1) I started to write this before Infinity War was released. I went with a lot of what I saw in the trailers and then guessing based off of those, and then the rest is just me trying to fit my own theories into the preceding canon. Thus...**

 **2) Sif, in my fic, was on Earth before and during the events of Thor: Ragnarok (as per Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., the tv show). I went with a mix of her MCU and Comic self.**

 **3) After Spiderman: Homecoming, Happy and Pepper got engaged, rather than Tony and Pepper, since Tony sort of messed with his body with Extremis and she really didn't like that.**

 **4) Thanos' attack on the Asgardians didn't happen quite the same way as in the film. More survived, managing to escape.**

 **5) The way that Thanos and his minions attack Earth is way different/slower.**

 **6) Probably plenty more but those are the major points. (Also, you can fight me on Thor's title. I know it's wrong, but shhhh.)**

 **Thank you so much to my amazing betas and cheerreaders: enkiduu, Annaelle, Perry_Downing, grliegirl, willidothefandango, and spacefoxen. I couldn't have done it without you all! Really, you've been invaluable.**

 **Please enjoy my take on what I thought might happen in Infinity War, mixed with some of what actually did happen!**

* * *

"Life's a forge! Yes, and hammer and anvil, too! You'll be roasted, smelted, and pounded, and you'll scarce know what's happening to you. But stand boldly to it! Metal's worthless till it's shaped and tempered! More labor than luck. Face the pounding, **don't fear the proving** ; and you'll stand well against any hammer and anvil."

― _Lloyd Alexander, "Taran Wanderer"_

* * *

 ** _Just north of Alesund, Norway_ **  
**_November 30_ ****_th_ ****_, 2016_ **  
**_Five months and six days after Siberia_ ****_  
_****_Mid-morning_**

"If this is what happened to Mjolnir, then what happened to Thor? Is he still alive?" Tony asked, incredulity creeping into his voice as he stared down at the shattered pieces lying in the grass. He crouched down and reached his hand towards a piece of the hilt, stopping just short of laying his hand upon the piece of the mighty weapon, the leather that had been wound around it frayed and torn as if something sharp had split it apart—and that something was Mjolnir.

He could barely believe what his eyes were seeing. He had to touch, he had to…

Tony gripped the piece in his hand, and suddenly found that he could lift it. He could…

"Christ," he whispered, dropping the piece as if he had been burned. There was something so… _wrong_ with being able to lift the weapon, even broken as it was. "How do we know this is real? How do we…" He trailed off, choosing to stand up instead of finish his sentence, wiping the shins of his pants as he went.

"It is truly Mjolnir," his companion replied, sympathetic understanding—and her own worry and fear—lacing her voice.

It was hard to believe what he was seeing.

When he'd first received the phone call from a _very-not-dead_ Coulson, he'd barely believed _that_ , and had required an extensive round of proof before he would believe that who he was speaking to was the same Agent Agent who had been killed during the attack on the original helicarrier. After that, it had actually been a lot easier to believe that the phone was being passed on to an Asgardian—who had since told him they were called _Aesir_ —who then told him something that was less believable than _any_ of that… that Mjolnir was destroyed.

What followed was a whirlwind of events that he had no control over, and _somehow_ he was invited over to Norway, of all places, to see the proof with his very own eyes.

Oh, and somewhere along the way he was tasked with guarding it, because Lady Sif stated that _only_ an Avenger of Midgard could be trusted with its protection and secrecy ( _that_ was a foot-tall stack of NDAs that his current P.A. went on and _on_ about, _Christ_ ) while she rebuilt it, and since he was the only Avenger around that she remembered from when Thor had told her and the Warriors Three tales of their adventures… well, he was it.

That was hard to wrap his mind around as well.

So after a series of slightly-unbelievable events, here he was in Norway, standing thirty yards away from a precipitous drop off a _very_ high cliff into the vast and beautiful Norwegian Sea… and he still couldn't quite believe it, with the proof in front of his very eyes.

"It's… truly Mjolnir," Tony whispered, letting himself drop onto his rear from the crouch he'd been maintaining, and then he reached towards the shards once more.

Sif, to her credit, didn't get frustrated with him, nor did she get impatient. She sat down in much the same position as Tony had found himself in, though rather more gracefully, and she reached out calmly, slowly, to place her warm hand on top of Tony's bare forearm.

They remained silent for long minutes, not even looking at the destroyed weapon before them. Instead, they stared out across the sea, took in the clear blue sky, listening to the wind rustling the long blades of grass and cooling the heat of the sun upon their bodies.

After a good while had passed, Tony brought his free hand up and placed it over top of Sif's as he moved his other arm until he was gripping her hands between them. He looked at her, truly looked at her, her gaze never once wavering from his, and asked: "You can restore Mjolnir to its former state, and have it ready for when Thanos arrives? You truly believe that Thor will be back on time to wield it in this war? I trust you, Sif, and if you say so… then I believe you. You are one of the few I trust right now. Please do not take that trust lightly, and do not deceive me. I know that you cannot control it all… but what you _can_ control… tell me. Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you. I don't know how I'll be able to find the time for it as I prepare Earth for the invasion you've warned is coming—"

And here Tony stopped, his fears attempting to consume him with images of what he saw in the wormhole; with the image, the _nightmare_ , he had been shown by the deepest fears in his soul when Scarlet Witch had played with his mind… But he pulled himself together, continuing as if nothing had happened, and grateful that Sif made no mention, nor showed any physical sign, of pity for him.

"—hell, half of them still don't believe me and the others, even with the long-range telescope images of the invasion force amassing—but I promise you, Lady Sif, I will _make_ the time if need be. This is important. It's a leg-up, even if the other Aesir…" He trailed off as Sif flinched, just slightly, and stared at her in concern and even a little fear.

Sif swallowed, and looked away slightly, her face etching with the barest hints of grief. "You know I have not heard from my brother in over a month, and he is _always_ watching. The last thing he told me was to stay away from Asgard, that something major was afoot, beyond the usual, but he should _know_ that I need him, and the only reason anything would keep Heimdall from me for this long is that something—something _cataclysmically_ important—has drawn him away from the Bifrost. And I have not been able to make my portals to Asgard; not in over two weeks. And then that garbled message we received last week, the one about Thanos… There is no other answer but that Asgard is… is _gone_. The place, but not the people." She pressed her free hand into a fist over her heart. "I feel them here. Reduced, but _here_. My brother yet lives, the princes yet live, but they are… adrift. It is all I know, but I _know_ that they will come here. They know that Thanos is coming. And they will not look the other way as it happens. _I_ will not look the other way."

She looked Tony in the eye once more, grit and resolve front and center. "I vow to you that I will fix Mjolnir. It is a gift for weapons of power, passed on from mother to daughter for millennia within my family. Power gifted to us by our single Dwarven ancestor, since I see you are curious." He was. "It is one of the reasons we have always been kept close to the royal family. My true powers may lie with the earth, and this other power… diluted, but that only means it will take longer to achieve the exact same results that my grandmother would have achieved in less time, and her grandmother in less time than that. I can do this. I _will_ do this. But I will be depleted of all else but general functions and speech until the task is complete."

Tony believed her. He may not have known her for long, but he believed her.

"What can I do?" he asked, squeezing her hand gently. "Y'know… besides save the world," he added, just to make her laugh.

It was enough. She smiled at him, her eyes glinting with a small hint of mirth, and it broke the spell, the _pall_ , that was over top of them. She paused for a moment. "Well… if I'm understanding Midgardian vernacular correctly… I'm just into you for your money," she said slyly, with a careful, over-exaggerated wink.

Tony felt his jaw drop, and silence reigned before he suddenly started laughing hard; deep belly laughs that he could hardly contain, and he had to fall back on the ground and stare up at the sky as the tall blades of grass waved in the air beside and above him, as he tried to regain some manner of control over himself.

Sif appeared above him, smirking, and he was glad that she wasn't one of those types of people who immediately shied away from their own joke. She owned it. "Well, Mr. Stark?" she asked as he gripped her proffered hand and she pulled him— _way_ too easily, _wow_ —to his feet. He brushed the grass and dirt off the back of his jeans just as she continued. He knew she had more to say, and had thus remained quiet. "Can you provide me with protection and bodies on the ground as I… how do you say it… _work my ass off_ … to fix Mjolnir? Hopefully before Thanos and his minions arrive. As for Thor… we can't control his circumstances, but perhaps when Mjolnir is complete once more, it will sing to him and guide him home all the quicker, though I believe he may not need it anymore, from what I can… feel. But perhaps it will even offer him strength, fill a gap missing from his power, if he needs it, which was gouged into him by Mjolnir's destruction. At the very least, it will guide him here to where we are."

She finally realized she had said enough and that Tony was simply standing there, hand out towards her, waiting for her to shake on it.

A smile slowly bloomed across her features as she reached out and shook his hand, her grip firm, their calluses rubbing roughly against the other's and telling them more about each other than words ever could.

"I knew I could count on you, Mr. Stark," Sif stated firmly, loudly, as if she'd never had any doubt and she wanted the whole world to hear.

Tony suddenly realized that Sif had very likely been informed of the full breadth of the Sokovia Accords disaster, had likely seen the news reports and heard the details from Coulson, since she had been working with him and his group for the last while, off and on, and for her to say that, and how she said it…

"Call me Tony, Lady Sif, please. Just Tony," he offered. It was a rare gift these days, and he wasn't sure if she knew it. In time, perhaps, she would.

"So you must call me Sif, then, Tony. It would honor me if you were to call me Sif."

Tony closed his eyes and basked in the warmth and the breeze, which carried the scent of salt from the sea. It had been a long time since he had closed his eyes for longer than a moment around anyone new, as well. A long time, indeed.

And there was even longer yet to go—for _all_ of them.

* * *

 ** _United Nations General Assembly  
_** ** _New York City, NY  
_** ** _July 1_ ****_st_ ****_, 2016  
_** ** _One week after Siberia  
_** _ **Early evening**_

"On the off chance that some of you don't know who I am, but mostly to make it easier for those recording this session, my name is Tony Stark. All those who _do_ know me, know that I'm not much one for standing on ceremony, and I'm even less inclined to it right now. But just because I don't stand on ceremony, doesn't mean that I'm not serious about what I'm here for today. It doesn't mean that the words I'm about to speak are taken any less seriously by _me_. Yes, Tony Stark has the capacity for seriousness upon occasion. It just depends on the nature of the topic.

"And this topic is quite serious indeed. Everyone, I'm sure, across the world, was glued to the television, radio, or internet news sites over the three eventful days which started ten days ago. This is the event that was named the Civil War by the American media, simply because it was a fight that occurred between members of one team: the Avengers. I understand why you guys called it that, but really? Eh, whatever. Moving along…

"Where to begin… well, why don't we start with a bit of a rant about Captain America's choices. Gasp, yes, I know, how terrible of me. Or, perhaps, how wonderful of me, based on how much of the world feels at this moment. Either way, let's get this out of the way, and then move on to other things.

"The American public—the _world_ —doesn't blame him for being human. They blame him for lying to them. Which some would argue is the same thing, but most of us have become better about thinking shit like that. It seems that Steve is still a man of the past, no matter how good a man he might be… might have _been_. And that he lied... that he used his anger against the Accords as a screen for protecting his friend, a man who, yes, was a brainwashed prisoner of war, but still required a trial just like everyone else in the world is required to do—or, at least, a grand jury with special circumstances provided for, leading possibly to a pardon, or more lenient sentencing… or not, but I'll get to that later.

"But, back to what I was saying, it seems that Steve didn't trust the American, the International, even, court of justice, something he had previously supported, himself... well that was not just hypocritical, it was insulting. Good enough for everyone else other than him and his best friend, apparently. That's what he was telling the world. That he had problems with the Accords and was worried about our safety, security, and freedom. And in the midst of his lying, he hung four of his colleagues out to dry, never once telling them what he was really gunning for—and it didn't start with Sokovia, and sure as hell didn't end with the Accords. He left them, just like that, to be arrested, never having told them the truth. Never telling me the truth of what he'd known for the two years following the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.—but we'll get to that later.

"Sure, he told me that he'd known who the Winter Soldier was, who he used to be, and that he was trying to track him down. He told the team. But he didn't want to tell anyone else. There were so many opportunities to bring other powerful allies in, ones we could _trust_ rather than those with agendas, to aid him in his efforts with the tools at their disposal—ones even I didn't have—and who could even start preparing a defense for the man who had been his best—and previously _only_ —friend… People who could and _would_ protect the best friend of Steve Rogers... but no. No, the man who represented the truth and liberty and justice of America... well, perhaps he really was just human after all.

"And, well, that's okay. We all are, at the end of the day, no matter what detractors may say.

"Now that that's out of the way, and I've had the public rant he's expecting me to have—because I sure as hell bet he's listening in this very minute, analyzing every word that comes out of my mouth and cursing me halfway around the world... now that that's over with, let's get down to what my take is on everything, after I gave it all some much-needed time and pondering...

"The fact of the matter is that there are many more in this world who are like the Avengers: super-powered individuals, meta-humans, highly-skilled but regular humans, visiting alien princes, even, and those humans like me with tricks up their sleeves. I have been approached to speak on behalf of many of those, before and after the events of the so-called Civil War, but there are many more who I do not speak for, many who agreed more with Captain America and his stance. And really... the reality of our world right now means that I need to speak for all of them. Both those on my quote unquote side and those on the other. We don't have the time for petty or otherwise disagreements or fights. We need to unite the world. And as the man who is left, the one who is still allowed a seat at the table—and hopefully soon we can allow _others_ a seat at the table—I need to consider the wants and needs of all the world's population, whether human or otherwise, whether they agree with me or not. I have the power to affect the Accords until we can get it to be treated more democratically, but that also means I have a responsibility to treat the Accords—and my, for lack of a better word, constituents—with respect, discretion, and seriousness.

"We all want the same thing in the end: the safety and security of the residents of our planet, Earth. But both sides forgot two fundamental things. One, the regular humans—my apologies for the terminology—forgot that we are humans, too. Well, human-like for some of our ranks, okay. We, including those such as Aesir—their own name for themselves, but we have taken to calling them Asgardians—like Prince Thor of Asgard, have thoughts, feelings, emotions, hearts, souls, hopes, and dreams that are just like those of regular humans.

"And two... the super-powered community has forgotten that just because we save the world, does not mean that we control the world. Yes, the fact of the matter is that our words and presence have more weight to them than regular humans. But that does not mean we make the law. It does not mean we can flout the law. We work within the laws of each country, of the world, where and when we can, as best we can, just like every other human on Earth, and if we have a problem with it... we either shut up or speak up—not act out.

"I would even argue that those of us who have more weight to our voices should be _more_ careful of what we say; we should be more careful of the causes and people we choose to back, and what we choose to put into action. We influence so many people, so many people listen to us and follow our lead, that we need to have _care_ with what we say and do—or risk ruin to more than just us.

"But we all know this, here, at the U.N. What you don't know, however... is what happened during the Civil War. You forgot, like I mentioned, that we are humans behind our masks and costumes. You forgot that we had reasons for our actions, some of which you couldn't ever possibly have guessed at... so I can't blame you entirely. But what I want to do next is tell you a few secrets. A few things from my life and the lives of the others, particularly Captain Steven Grant Rogers—a.k.a. Captain America—and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—a.k.a. the Winter Soldier.

"One. We all should remember that both of these men were, _are_ , valued, decorated, and celebrated members of the American military who served during one of the bloodiest, deadliest, and _cruelest_ wars of the modern era, World War II. Both of these men gave up their lives, for all intents and purposes, and _more_ than their lives. One woke up in a century he had no clue about, and was struggling to understand, though he still fought for us just the same. The other was lost in action, but was, in fact, captured by the enemy and then tortured repeatedly while they worked on brainwashing him to the point that he remembered nothing about his past, his family, his friends, his country… nothing. They replaced his mangled arm with a mechanical one that was poorly executed for all it was beyond its time, and this arm continued to leave James Barnes in perpetual and indescribable pain. But he was trained to not acknowledge it, to not let it show, to not complain. To not be a _person_. Otherwise, he was punished cruelly. I'm sure what our imaginations conjure up is nowhere near the reality.

"It's this man, this tortured man, who paid the ultimate sacrifice—and _more_ —in one of our world's most dire times of need, whom I would like to draw our attention to. He is the man whom this latest conflict truly revolved around. Without him, Steve Rogers would never have gone rogue. Steve Rogers would have sat at the table for longer than he did if it hadn't been for how his friend was treated, hounded, and the attempts on his life. However… that doesn't make him, either of them, bad men. The facts have already come to light, and more here are before you in the file I have prepared for you, Ambassadors, that James Buchanan Barnes was framed for the bombing on the United Nations building. He was nowhere nearby, in fact. Not even in the country. At first, this was not something that was known to officials and agencies. So they had every right to begin a manhunt for him. Yet it eventually came to light that there was something more going on than what first appeared. Eventually, those in charge of his capture found out this very fact, and yet somehow they still carried on under this false pretense. Yes, his capture was still necessary, not least of all because of the many assassinations tied to his name, or the injuries and casualties sustained by law enforcement and civilians alike during his escape from the law… but it should not have been done under a kill order.

"Yes. A _kill order_. There are so many things I can say about that, but you will find all of the evidence you need—and _much, much more_ on _many_ other topics—under the folder named 'Thaddeus Ross'. Yes you, you scumbag. I refuse to let you hold me under your thumb. I refuse to be threatened by you. I am threatened by _no one_ , and it's time I remember that. It's time _you_ remember that. I am not scared by you, but many are, and it's time those people are saved from living under threat of your shadow, of your office, of your power over them. And no, you don't have time to hide, _Mr. Secretary_ , because armed guards should be arriving at your office at, _oh_ , any minute now, fully sanctioned by the President. Have fun with that, _sir_.

"Anyway! Back to our scheduled programming… hm, where was I? Oh, yes, Barnes' innocence. So, even though he was innocent, he shouldn't have run, but as you'll see in those files, it's actually a good thing he ran. His best friend, Steve Rogers, who had been trying to track him down for nigh on two years now, _really_ shouldn't have been helping his friend escape the law that he supported—and I'm not talking about the Accords, here—but the man really does have a good head on his shoulders and he can truly suss out schemes—like the orders that were given to shoot on sight, which were _not right_ … He can suss out schemes like that in a way no other man I've met can. Which can be a really good thing, and in a way this time it was, I'll give him that. So… he makes for a good ally, in truth. I always found him to be so, after all was said and done, and our tempers inevitably cooled.

"In the end, I tracked them down to an abandoned bunker in Siberia. This is something that no one knew until now. I hadn't told anyone, but I've included the recording from my suit—the _full_ recording, you can check the timestamps—that shows that the captain and sergeant had both traveled there to stop the unleashing of about a half dozen others who had been brainwashed under the winter soldier program. They tracked the man who had been responsible for the bombing, a man by the name of Colonel Helmut Zemo, of Sokovia. It turns out that the man was so angry over what happened to Sokovia, over the loss of his family, his _child_ , that he wanted to ruin the very people he saw as responsible for his loss—the Avengers. He wanted to ruin us from within, destroy everything we held dear, just like what had happened to him. And really? We _are_ responsible for his loss. We've already had the hearing on Ultron and what happened in Sokovia, but I again own up for my mistakes, for Dr. Bruce Banner's mistakes, and that of my team in the effort to stop the power that was unknowingly unleashed by us. By me.

"You see, Zemo wanted to get at me, first and foremost. And he knew what the team meant to me… what it still does. Honestly, I give him props for his use of psychology—he's a terribly brilliant guy, though with an emphasis on the terrible… aaaand I'm getting off track.

"So… let's see. Zemo orchestrated it all, yadda yadda, left just enough info lying around that Rogers and Barnes knew they needed to go to Siberia to halt him from waking the other winter soldiers… but they didn't realize it was a trap. A trap for them, and for me. You see, the winter soldiers had already been killed in a way there was no coming back from, and it was all a ploy, a trap laid to get the three—four, rather—of us in the same place. So that we could watch a stupid, fu—excuse me—a stupid video that set me against the two of them.

"The reason they escaped me, which you all wanted to know, was because I let my anger get the best of me. Now, I know I've never been known as the coolest head. But recently I've—excuse the pun—begun to chill out. But… what I saw _enraged_ me. At least until I had time to cool down, quite literally, in the aftermath of being thoroughly trounced by two super soldiers. I could have won, I won't lie, but I didn't want to kill them—just hurt them _really badly_ , because I was just… well, I was out of control, but I didn't want to _kill_ , and that was really the only way I could have won. Yes, I was sent with a kill order… but I had no plans to obey that command, sorry _not_ sorry, Ambassadors. Steve was… _is_ my friend, despite everything, despite lying to me for two years about one of the most important things in my _life_ , and Barnes is his best friend. Someone who, if he'd been in his right mind, I know I would have gotten along with like a house on fire. And he was someone who had been _brainwashed_ , someone who I know I could have found a way to help out of the programming instilled in him… who I had every intention to help, and do again now… but at that moment, watching that video, and hearing that my _best friend_ had lied to me? At that moment I didn't give a flying fig. I just wanted to hurt him.

"You know what I saw? You want to know what it was? The thing that sent me over the edge? It was a video of the Winter Soldier, on December 16th, 1990, killing… being ordered to, being commanded to do something he was _brainwashed into doing_ … killing my parents.

"If you'll all settle down?

"… Thank you. Now, I didn't tell you this for shock value, for pity, for anything like that. I am a notoriously private man, at least about things that include my family, friends, and business. So why, you ask, am I telling you this?

"Because I forgive him. I forgave him halfway through the fight, if I'll be honest—or, well, that's a lie. The _beginnings_ of forgiveness started then, but I was still too angry. But it was in the hours afterwards, when I was lying on a cold concrete slab in a dead suit while waiting for Vision to arrive, when understanding came to me, and forgiveness quickly followed. And if _I_ could forgive him, if _I_ can understand him, someone whose parents were taken away by the very man in question… then so can you. The people who I blame are Hydra. The organization, but also the people who were Hydra to their very souls… or what little remained of their souls, if anything. _They_ were the ones responsible for the murders and assassinations carried out by the _tool_ , the _weapon_ that was known as the Winter Soldier.

"But the man inside that tool, inside that weapon… he broke through the programming by the sheer power of friendship. Honestly, I sound like a frackin' Disney movie, here, but it's true, no matter how ridiculous it seems. You see, Sergeant Barnes had been tasked with killing the man who was his best friend before everything went down, the man who still considered him to be his best friend… and during one of their fights, Captain Rogers started to get through to the man. It wasn't then that he broke through, but the first of many cracks began to appear, and they continued to do so as Steve hunted him across the world, trying desperately to bring his friend, a _prisoner of war_ , might I remind you, back in to the warmth of hearth and home. A home which I had promised to James Barnes.

"And I absolutely plan to fulfill that promise. So this is my head's up that I will do everything in my power to clear the name of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, a man who is _not_ the same as the tool called the Winter Soldier. I don't give a crap if that gives you time to plan, because I have every confidence that I will win. And perhaps the advanced warning will actually make you realize I'm right, after all. Because if I'm on his side… who else might be? Might doesn't make right, but if there's enough damn people on one person's side, that certainly makes you wonder if you're in fact wrong about that person. And to this end, I have included a folder on Sergeant Barnes, so that you can all come to know who the _person_ is behind the mask, behind the brainwashing and programming.

"Because we can't let Zemo succeed. His ultimate goal was in 'toppling an empire'—the Avengers in this case, but I honestly think this could easily extend to the world as a nation of man, woman, and everything in between and beyond… He wanted to ruin us, to topple this empire, and I won't let him or anyone else succeed. I won't let the Accords succeed in his place, like they've already started to. I will work my damnedest, to the _bone_ if I have to, to see that the Accords are something that _everyone_ can agree on, something that _everyone_ can have a say in, superhero community and world population alike.

"I promise you that this will happen, and I will be open and transparent about it every step of the way. And to that end, with the permission of my country's Ambassador and fully backed by my President, the United States would like to propose this session's first vote: that all Accords debates and documents will be made fully, easily, and _immediately_ available to the public of all nations of the world.

"Thank you for your time, your attention, and your earnestness in seeing all aspects of this conflict resolved in a peaceable and timely manner. Good day to you all."

* * *

 _ **Wakanda**_  
 _ **August 29th, 2017**_  
 _ **One year, two months, and three days after Siberia**_  
 _ **Early afternoon**_

It had been a rout. A full on, absolute fucking wreck of a rout which had lasted over four days straight. Wakanda had been targeted, finally, like they knew it would be after the orbital defenses had been whittled down to practically nothing. They knew it would eventually be targeted with more than just the constant stream of petty nuisance attacks which had been a lesson in boredom for the last two months.

No, finally Thanos had been able to get through the diversions and barriers protecting Wakanda, and they had been ready for him. As many of Earth's heroes as they could spare were diverted to the battlefield that was more important than basically anywhere else on Earth.

It had not been enough.

Wakanda still stood. The city, its people, its heart... they had survived—at least, that's what T'Challa had said.

But the area surrounding the Infinity Stone which had been hidden in the mountains of Wakanda, the Mind Stone trapped in Vision's body, was a massive crater, and Vision himself had barely escaped Thanos' grasp—at great cost.

Countless lives gone. Just... gone. No one knew how many yet, since all local communications were down until they could be repaired, but Tony knew that it was too many.

 _One_ was too many.

And yet it was still worth it to keep the stone away from Thanos' grasping fingers.

But this... thousands of lives had been lost, he was sure, and there was no doubt in his mind that they had lost meta-humans, superheroes, and allies alike in the attack. They just... didn't know who. Not yet. Not even his tech, or T'Challa's, could break through, and they were left in the cold wind that barreled its way through the crater unobstructed, not sure of what to do next.

There was only him and T'Challa, left alone in an invisible bubble of space as people ran around them, veering to avoid the two war leaders as if by some unspoken accord. He was both glad for it and not, wanting space but also wanting human contact, to know that he was alive and a _part_ of something.

He felt… adrift.

But it would come to him. It always did. Sometimes his mind simply needed a reboot, and he knew that now was both like and unlike any other time. But it would happen, and then he'd know what to do. Then he would have a plan.

"I believe it's time to put your weapon into play," T'Challa said tiredly, interrupting Tony's mental shutdown process.

… or he could just let T'Challa figure things out for the moment.

Tony didn't even ask how T'Challa knew. The man was like him, and Tony knew things he shouldn't—information was power, and they were both powerful individuals. Instead, the question to be asked, as Tony gathered his thoughts together, was: "You're right. But Thor hasn't returned, and we're not even sure if he's alive. Who would we have wield Mjolnir? Who do we even have who could try with a reasonable chance of success? Vision?" It was something Tony hadn't thought of since his and Sif's first meeting; he had held onto the belief that Thor would return, that _that_ was the plan all along.

And… perhaps it hadn't been the plan at all. Perhaps Sif had always known that Thor wouldn't be the one to next wield Mjolnir. Perhaps she had let him believe, so as not to distract him from what was to come. She had let him believe that they were simply awaiting the Aesir prince.

But it seemed they couldn't afford to wait any longer, even if it _was_ Thor that they'd been waiting for the whole time.

T'Challa slanted him a glance, strong despite the slump of his shoulders. "Might I suggest the captain?" He tilted his head then, and caught Tony's eyes. "Or even yourself, perhaps?"

Tony ignored the latter and latched onto the former, averting his eyes and staring at the crowds of people still running around them. "You're right. Yes, Steve. He... of course, why didn't I think of that?" he muttered to himself. Turning more fully towards T'Challa, he asked, "Can you find him and ask him to be ready to leave within three hours? I need to find Natasha and ready supplies. Might I bother the quartermaster for a few missing but necessary supplies? Oh, and," he added as an afterthought, "can I borrow a car? I'll try to return it in one piece." He flashed a grin, albeit a bit of a weak one, at the king. He knew by now, after long association and with the blossoming friendship between him and the other man, that he wouldn't have to ask. That T'Challa trusted him not to take more than what was required, and only ever when it was absolutely necessary.

But it was the polite thing to do, and they had always done this particular dance.

T'Challa looked at him for a long moment, and Tony refused to shift nervously and impatiently in the silence. Finally, T'Challa smiled, just a little, as if something amused him, though Tony had no clue what or why. "Yes, you may," T'Challa consented. "And I will approach the captain for you. Shall he meet you at your quinjet?"

"No. No, the skies aren't safe in that direction. We don't control them any longer, at least last I knew. No one responded to hails last night—actually, not for the last few weeks—so no quinjet. Have him meet me at the quartermaster's, and we'll go from there. I've got to say goodbye to the kids and your sister first—she especially would never forgive me if I just left—" He huffed out a rueful laugh, and T'Challa bared his teeth in a grin. "—but I'll still probably get there before him. I'm sure he'll know to wait if I'm not, though." He paused, lips twitching in a slight smile, and then inclined his head to the king. "Thank you, T'Challa. For everything."

T'Challa smiled softly and tilted his head slightly in Tony's direction. "You are welcome. And Tony?" he added, catching the man just after he called up the faceplate of his dark red and black suit, but only barely before Tony could jet off.

"Yes?" Tony responded, voice modulated.

"One." He held up a finger. "I will be sure to look after your wards—and my sister, of course. I know you will worry, but they are in good hands, and will be here for you when you return." Tony nodded, terse but grateful, and then T'Challa continued, "And two: do not ignore what I said."

Tony let the faceplate dissolve back beneath his skin once more, only a second's work, and gave the king a sardonic grin. "I didn't. I just choose to disagree with your assessment." A pause, as he contemplated the slightly perturbed look that his friend was giving him. "Good luck, Your Highness," he said, with absolutely no sarcasm or humor. And with that, he called up the faceplate once more and engaged the thrusters.

There was a lot to do, in very little time. They had a long way to go, and no time to waste.

* * *

 _ **Wakanda** _  
_**Same day: August 29th, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, and three days after Siberia** _  
_**Late afternoon**_

Steve stared at the hand being offered to him.

He'd known he was going to be meeting up with Tony. He'd known that. He'd met with Tony just before the battle here in Wakanda. It had gone well. They'd shared perfunctory and professional phone calls, both private ones and conference calls. Those had gone well, also. They'd had that first meeting months after Siberia in person when Tony had been sharing the details he knew about Thanos' approach, friends and allies at both their sides, and strangers watching, waiting, for _anything_. That had gone… okay. Okay in a way that even still _ached_.

But…

It hadn't been like this, meeting each other with only Natasha and Bucky beside them. In this moment… Steve wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't sure how to react. He wasn't even sure why now was different. Perhaps it was because of the battle that had just happened, the friends who they knew they had lost, and the ones they hadn't heard from yet who may still be lost. Was it because he was exhausted and caked in dirt, still having not gone and showered in the wake of everything because he was too busy trying to push down the panic within him, the shell shock—no, PTSD, he kept forgetting it was called PTSD these days—while still trying to oversee the clean-up and recovery of dead men and women, humans and meta-humans alike? Was it because he was barely holding it together?

No… no, what it probably was was that he knew this would be a long trip, in close quarters— _just like old times_ , his mind whispered to him in the background—with only two others besides themselves for company, and… and…

They would inevitably come around to topics that he... that _neither_ of them would like. They would end up talking about things that they had pushed aside in favor of the oncoming threat, that they had only barely glossed over in an effort to move on, to become cordial with each other, to _get things done_.

They were at a good place—a _better_ place, not a _good_ one, no, not really that, but it was certainly good in comparison to what it _had_ been between them during that last day, during that fight with each other, with Bucky, in that bunker in Siberia.

He didn't want to rock the boat. He was scared, he could admit it. All those years of friendship, of admiration, of companionship and ease and comfort and, and… and _love_ —not just between him and Tony, but between all of the Avengers. Despite the tension and the sniping and the fights that would often spark between them, there was so much more than that to their relationship—their _friendship_ , he reminded himself.

Just a friendship.

Despite the bad, there had been so much _good_ that he, they, had lost over three days. Three days which had ruined _everything_ that he had held dear about the future, and so he wasn't going to let go of the little he could get of Tony now. He was fighting inch by inch to return to something like how it used to be with his friend—one of two of the bestest friends he'd ever had—and he would be damned if he let it fail because he said or did something stupid, something _wrong_.

He wanted Tony in his life again, and he'd do anything to achieve that—well, within reason… but those parameters were a lot smaller than many people would suspect.

And that _speech_ …

No, not that. Not at the moment. They could… they could discuss that later. But suffice it to say, that speech had changed a lot; had brought up a lot of things he'd wanted to say to Tony and had never had the chance to say to him since.

All that and more flashed through his mind over the course of what felt like an eternity, but was likely only about ten to fifteen seconds. Steve took in a short, soft breath, ducked his head a little and caught Tony's eyes briefly before watching his own hand as he extended it towards the other man's… then their hands clasped together, and it was… it was—

It was the first time they'd touched in over a year. It had been too _long_. Even if they had never touched in the way Steve had wished for—sometimes _desperately_ —the little touches between them had been many and varied, friendly and comforting, the type of contact two friends who were at peace with each other in many ways would share.

Steve registered an increase in Tony's heartbeat and respiration, and he let his eyes flick up to look at his frie—his colleague. The one who _had_ been his friend—one of his _best_ friends. The one who might… might possibly still be, if what he'd said before had been true.

It was possible.

It was a hope he was holding onto, though still planning for the worst. Just in case.

"Hi, Tony," he said, sounding more tired than he thought he was.

Obviously Tony picked up on it—he picked up on _everything_. Steve could see the little furrow of his brow he did when he was concerned, but then it smoothed out, rather forcibly Steve thought, until his expression was a little guarded.

Just a little. Steve could still tell. It could be the end of the world, or fifty years from then, and he'd still be able to read Tony. He'd be able to read him if he were in disguise, he swore, especially since he'd been able to read him in his suit back when… back then.

"Ro—Steve," he settled on.

Steve tried desperately to rein in his happy reaction to that, but he was pretty darn sure that he wasn't as successful as he hoped to be, since he heard Bucky smother a laugh. He glanced over with his peripherals, and sighed at the smirk on Nat's face, from where she stood beside his friend.

He looked back at Tony, both of them still grasping onto each other's hands, and saw that the dark-haired man was smirking at him as well.

All of a sudden he felt his shoulder being knocked to the side, jarring his connection to Tony loose as Bucky sidled past him and wrapped the smaller man up in what could only be described as a bear hug.

"Tony!" Steve's oldest friend exclaimed happily.

"Ah! Boo Bear! You're choking me! Help, help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" Tony laughed as he wrapped his arms around Bucky's middle and squeezed back as tightly as he could in return.

"What?" Steve asked Natasha, who had sidled up beside him. He was sure he was missing something. "He's still standing?"

"A reference," she replied easily, a hint of a smile in her voice telling him she was pleased without him having to look at her. "A commercial about the elderly falling in their homes and needing assistance to get up."

"Ah, I must've missed that one," he said, falling into a companionable enough silence as he watched Bucky and Tony separate and then smile at each other as Tony started to inspect Bucky's arm.

It was bittersweet to watch the two of them interact.

Sweet in that the two of them had moved past their differences, and seemed now to be fast friends in the wake of the time they'd spent together, remaking a new arm for him with Shuri, T'Challa's sister, and working to remove those hated words from within his mind as a condition of the pardon that had already been signed by over a hundred and twenty countries—another thing Tony had done for a man he barely knew at the time it had all begun. The trigger removal was still a work in progress, but… it was better. _He_ was better. And it was wonderful to see.

But it was also a bitter moment, watching them embrace and knowing that there was a chance _he_ and Tony could've been the ones with arms around each other. That he could have spent the last year and more spending time with Tony and Bucky—perhaps even just he and Tony alone—instead of hiding away every time the engineer had visited the location he, Bucky, and the others had been housed at outside of Wakanda's city proper.

He just… hadn't wanted to intrude.

Well, no. That wasn't quite it. At first, he hadn't known what to say. He'd still been angry but he'd had enough presence of mind to know that it was mostly bluster and frustration, angry at _how_ things went down and not even so much the _why_ of it all going down. They could have gotten past so much, he and Tony, just as they always had in the past, if they had both kept their cool. If _he_ had kept his cool. It wasn't all his fault, no, not at all, but even then he recognized that he was at fault for his own fair share, and he had nobody to blame except himself—at least as far as he and Tony went.

There were a lot of things that he'd had every right to be upset about, _furious_ about, and he still was, but that didn't mean that he couldn't have treated Tony like the friend he'd always been beneath the surface of the sparks as they clashed—like they _always_ had. They'd always managed to work things out in the past.

And so he'd known it wouldn't take too long—especially not after listening to the speech Tony had given to the United Nations' General Assembly and the world at large—but the only problem with that was that Steve had been too chicken to initiate contact, other than the letter he'd sent just before the speech… and Tony, of course, hadn't either.

They were both masters of avoidance when they wanted to be, it seemed.

So they just hadn't ever… talked.

Not until Thanos. Not until he and the rest of the Avengers had been filled in alongside T'Challa—though he had a feeling that the king had known long before—of the threat that was coming, and started to prepare them, others like them, and the _world_ for the oncoming tides of war.

It had been _just_ enough contact… and not enough all at once.

But it had started them moving forward again, even if it had been some form of awkward ever since.

It was _something_.

And here they were, about to spend nearly two weeks in some Wakandan version of a Jeep, and Steve couldn't help but wonder at what would follow.

It was… exciting.

The very next moment, Tony turned towards him, one arm slung over Bucky's shoulders, and smiled—Steve's heart nearly lurched right out of his chest, it was so filled with everything he had missed about the man, everything he never thought he'd see again on those lips, in those eyes—and asked, "Ready, Cap?"

Steve smiled softly—'Cap' was a hell of a lot better than the 'Rogers' he'd been when they first spoke after Siberia—and replied, "Always."

* * *

 _ **South Sudan & Sudan** _  
_**August 30th & 31st, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, and four & five days after Siberia**_

The first two full days of travel passed with relative ease. They were still within Wakanda's borders for part of those said two days, and the rest was spent traveling through part of Sudan, the next country to the north-west. In recent years it had stabilized, coming a long way from the fear and terror of the hostility, war, and genocide which had all started in 2003, and Tony suspected that had a lot to do with Wakandan influence... all done unofficially, of course. Yet it made for a smoother passage than even Steve had been expecting, apparently; the one who planned for the worst and expected the best. They still had a fair bit of distance to go in Sudan, let alone the rest of their trip, and it would only seem longer as they passed through more war-ravaged regions and avoided Thanos-controlled areas entirely.

Tony had had his misgivings, his hangups, about this trip—what could be _two weeks_ in close quarters with the two men who had nearly killed him, with the man who had broken his heart, even if he didn't know he'd owned it?—before they'd even begun, but it was the only thing that he could think of for a next move.

There were a lot of good men and women out there who were in charge of the planet's defenses—and its offense, what little it felt like there was at the moment—and he knew that he could step back and away from everything for even two weeks. It wasn't like the war was going by lightning quick—in fact it was moving at a snail's pace compared to what he thought, though that could change at any moment. He had helped to prepare Earth for Thanos' arrival as best he could, throwing money around like it was candy at a Macy's Thanksgiving parade, organizing things left and right and up and down. He _knew_ that it was time for him to step back and let the others do what they had prepared for. It wasn't like he needed to do everything. In fact, that was what had gotten the Avengers into trouble with the Civil War, in a way. The thought that they alone were responsible for protecting the world, for making decisions about the world and what was best for it.

No… it was time to trust humanity, the Earth's population and its human representatives—non-superhero humans, that was—with Earth's protection.

Trust and respect. It was what made the world go 'round—or, at least, now it did.

And with all that, it meant that four Avengers could go traipsing off on a road trip for nearly two weeks, and the world wouldn't fall apart.

It wasn't even that awkward. Maybe a little at first, but not anymore. No, that had been reserved for their first encounter.

The first time they met and spoke had been awkward as a result of all the things left unsaid between them in the wake of Siberia, despite the ground Tony had earned, apparently, with his U.N. speech. It was awkward, but in a way it was exactly what had been needed to bridge the divide between them—at least somewhat. It had started the healing process on Steve's end without Tony ever having to say the words to Steve's face—the speech, that was. And yes, Tony fully admitted that he had been a coward about that, but fuck it.

Fuck it all.

There had been nothing good about the situation, and he had made his best of it all, and… well, apparently it had worked to one degree or another.

Steve and he had met, spoken just enough about what had happened and what Tony had said—even if not in too great of detail—and then they had… moved on. It wasn't like they'd been ignoring it. No, Tony was long past trying to ignore his problems into non-existence. But they had actually spoken like mature adults, like they should have in the first place.

But Tony, as he'd alluded to in his U.N. address, had understood that the circumstances were different. There was no dire threat hanging over their heads—Thanos was still approximately six months out at the time—and nobody was trying to kill Steve's best friend, and so they had _time_. They had time to talk, time to hash things out or put them aside to be talked about at a later time… and it had _worked_. They had taken one step at a time, and it had done them good.

Things had still been distant, completely unlike they'd been before, but there had been _hope_ underneath it all. Hope that the vestige of their relationship, which resided still beneath their words and actions, could be salvaged.

They'd spoken here and there, mostly about business, and hadn't seen each other in person except for the initial meeting for the reveal of the Thanos threat, and the signing of the now fully acceptable Accords—renamed the United Earth Defense Accords—until they had met in Wakanda, when T'Challa had called Tony in as back-up, to prepare for Thanos' attack on Vision's Mind Gem.

So… yes. The first two days had been spent mostly in silence between he and Steve, neither quite knowing what to do to fill the gap between each other in a casual manner, but it hadn't been awful, either. The silence had quickly become companionable between them, and they were able to listen in—and sometimes laugh and smile at—the stories and topics that James would regale them with. And once… once they had even shared a more secretive smile, one which had gone to both of their eyes, when James had said something which had obviously been meant to be private, and Natasha had murmured something fond and entirely too soft for the woman whom he had known nearly—holy shit—for a decade now. And even two years ago, a year and a half, Tony knew that he'd never have seen this side of her, even if she was still careful to speak low enough that Tony, at least, couldn't hear her.

But that wasn't the important thing—well, it _was_ , because _oh my God_ , if James and Natasha were together, then that meant that…

Well, yep. That definitely _was_ the important thing, pretty much equal to the smile which he and Steve had just shared. He should have listened to his dad rather than the history books. Howard had said that there'd been nothing going on between Steve and James, but Tony had brushed that off as the certainty of a man making too much of his friendship with a legend—and who pretended he wasn't completely homophobic. Instead, Tony had chosen to give in to the musings of the history books—well, _some_ of them—as he had so hoped that his idol had been like… well, like _him_.

And then James had turned up alive and that same belief had turned around and bit him on the ass. He had been _sure_ that Steve had given up everything because James was… his.

Nope.

So that was the good news.

But the bad news was that now he had no way to know if the captain was gay or even bisexual, like him.

He could openly pine… but it had become completely uncertain pining.

So there he was, settling in for the night on the outskirts of one of the many abandoned villages that now littered north-western Africa—and the world, in preparation for Thanos—after their second full day on the road, no fire or lights to call attention to them. There they were, and there he was, and there _Steve_ was… and he wasn't quite sure where he stood anymore.

Even post-'Civil War,' he and Steve had stood on ground that he could predict.

In that moment? He wasn't so sure of anything anymore.

All because Natasha had smiled softly, secretively, at James.

He never thought he'd be so off-kilter as a result of finding out Steve and James had never been together in that way, at least as far as he could tell then.

Tony grumbled to himself and closed his eyes, deciding he could figure it out better tomorrow with more rest behind his belt.

* * *

 _ **Sudan** _  
_**September 1st, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, and six days after Siberia** _  
_**Just after midnight**_

Steve woke to screaming.

He was immediately alert, eyes shooting open within seconds of being startled awake, and reaching immediately for his shields which had moments ago been propping his head up beneath his jacket, and all as he was rising to a crouch, looking for the threat, for the source of the screams, or both.

It didn't take him long.

It was Tony. Tony, who was fully encased in the Iron Man armor, the blue nodes spaced across the length and breadth of the suit glowing brightly in the still-deep darkness of the African night. He didn't even pause to think about it, he just started to walk slowly towards Tony.

"Tony?" Steve queried, voice strong—though it very nearly cracked. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Tony, and Steve was still just as deeply affected by seeing his old friend in trouble, having nightmares like he used to, as he was before everything fell apart. He added words that were just as familiar as the sight of Tony in the firm grip of a nightmare, words which he'd used to pull Tony out of his dreams many times in the past—ones he'd learned from JARVIS—his voice softening slightly as he spoke, "Tony, it's Steve. It's early morning, past midnight, the temperature is in the low sixties, and you're in Sudan—but we just left Wakanda two days ago. You're not at home, but you are with people who care about you. Me, Steve that is, and Bucky—James—and Natasha as well. We're not going to hurt you. We're here for you. You're having a nightmare." He trailed off, motioning to Nat and Bucky to stay where they were, and hopefully as still as possible, on the opposite side of Tony's upright form.

Tony turned towards him, faceplate suddenly flipping up, eyes wide but unseeing in the glowing blue being cast upon his features from the arc reactor and nodes. Tony raised his hands, palms out towards Steve, but the repulsors didn't activate.

That was a good sign.

But it was still wrong, so wrong, to see the armored shoulders of Iron Man heaving, gasping in breath after breath, and to watch the way Tony's eyes fluttered shut as he tried to breathe, tried to steady himself, tried to—

"Steve?" It came out on a whisper, but Steve caught it anyway. Another good sign, Tony talking. It meant he was coming out of the nightmare. It meant that this was nearly over—except that Tony wouldn't be able to sleep again at all this night if his nightmares still hit him the same way they used to. There was nothing left but to clean up, to comfort, to let Tony curl against his side and talk it out like they u—no. _No_. That was in the past, and he couldn't ever expect it to be the same way as it used to be. He couldn't expect this to follow the same pattern, couldn't expect that Tony would _trust him_ enough to do like they used to do…

"Yeah, Tony, I'm here," he replied finally, after realizing he'd let his mind wander for a few seconds too long. He slowly placed his shields at his feet, trusting in his… his _friend_ not to hurt him. His friend was in _need_ ; he was not a danger.

"What happened?" the other man mumbled, taking a step towards Steve, the armor making very little sound compared to the old model—wow, it was a thing of beauty to see; he'd never seen it this close…

Steve shook himself, and reached towards the hand that was being given to him, as if in offering, eyes wide and feeling as if he were dreaming himself. This… was it real? Was Tony truly reaching out to him, to comfort him, after everything that had happened between them?

Yes.

Yes, he was, and Steve was going to reach out and—

Tony took Steve's hand in his, gripping tightly, before Steve could act on the urge himself. Steve watched as the shoulders of the suit slumped and Tony's face finally, fully, opened to reality. The man shook himself, as if trying to get rid of a certain feeling, it looked like, and Steve watched in fascination as the suit just… _melted_ back into Tony's body, inch by inch, faster than a normal human eye could follow—but Steve was no simple human. He could see every bit of the suit retracting back into Tony, could see every last bit of the tech disassembling itself and then just… dissolving, or maybe it was being _absorbed_ back into him. He traced it, with his eyes, up the arms, to the shoulders, to the chest, and—

The arc reactor was still there.

Tony had allowed the armor to retreat entirely… except for the arc reactor.

Was… was it still a part of Tony? Had it been re-implanted after… after Siberia? Oh, sh—no, he hadn't done that much damage to the reactor, to Tony's chest, in that fight, had he?

Suddenly Steve was overcome with fear, and he could see the moment that Tony understood—or near enough—what was going through Steve's mind. There was compassion in his eyes, clouding out the confusion that had been there moments ago.

"Come, let's talk," Tony said, remarkably composed for the screaming which had just happened not even five minutes ago. He continued to hold Steve's hand, gripping it just a little bit harder as he turned side-face and looked at Nat and Bucky. "Can you give us some privacy? I need to talk to Steve alone for a little bit. It's time. We'll be in the Jeep, if you can…" He trailed off, obviously not quite knowing what else to say.

Natasha straightened up and moved her hand seamlessly away from the knife she kept at the small of her back. Her expression softened just that little bit as she regarded him and said, "Sure, Tony. We can do that," and then she turned and walked away, hand outstretched to Bucky, who caught it on the third step and walked with her to the other side of the clearing, with only a single— _and very concerned_ —look back at Tony. Steve knew it was for Tony, because that _scream_ , sweet Jesus, it had been _soul-piercing_ and _terror-stricken_.

Tony didn't repeat his words to Steve, but simply gave him a look and then turned away as well, walking towards the Jeep nestled in the cover of darkness. Steve followed after taking a moment to gather his thoughts—as best he could—and settle his nerves, and then followed after him, climbing into the right side of the back seat, a bare few seconds after Tony had shut the door on the left side. They took a moment to settle in more comfortably, cracking the windows a little, and then Tony turned and looked at him—or near enough, anyway. The arc reactor was lighting up the space between them, though Tony had pulled the sides of his hoodie together in an attempt to cover it again—unsuccessfully, to a degree—and Steve found his eyes tracking back to it every so often, wondering _why, why, why_ …

"I…" Tony began hesitantly, and Steve's gaze shot back up to Tony's face. Tony licked his lips, once, and then began again, this time more confident, shoulders square but jaw too tense around his words, and eyes which wouldn't catch and hold Steve's: "I used to dream of the wormhole. You remember that, I know. But I no longer do. Or, at least, it features less often in the wide array of nightmarish options at my mind's disposal."

He sounded wry there, which was good in a way, Steve thought, even if the words weren't. But that was only a passing thought, quickly overtaken by the sure knowledge that he knew exactly what the more prominent nightmares were nowadays.

That knowledge filled him with shame.

"Tony—" he started.

"No," Tony interrupted. "Let me finish. Please," he added after a pause.

He looked, he sounded, so _tired_ all of a sudden, and so Steve sat back, turning slightly so that he was resting against the door panel, window cracked just a little above his head so that the car didn't fog up too badly while they spoke in the minimal privacy they could have with two trained assassins and spies around—though Steve knew they'd try to give them as much space and privacy as possible, some old habits died hard.

Tony shifted a little in his seat and, even though his body was angled slightly towards Steve's, he kept his eyes facing towards the front of the car, looking into the distance, past the windshield, into the darkness, without seeing anything, it seemed. Steve ached desperately to reach out and touch Tony's chin with his fingers, to guide his face around until he was looking at Steve, meeting his gaze, but knew he didn't have that right.

Not really. Not anymore.

He used to, but, well… now was now, and the past was… well, it didn't stay in the past, not really, but some things did. Some things had to.

"I used to dream of the wormhole," Tony began again, and Steve sat back to listen, and told himself he would keep his mouth shut for as long as—well, for as long as he could. But he would try. "The one in New York. The one where I saw the Chitauri in all their awful splendor, in their terrible place of becoming. You know this. We've spoken about it enough over the years. But… now that Thanos and his fighters are here, after I knew that they were going to arrive, that dream featured less. That nightmare. But even when I didn't know for sure of the threat coming, there was… _after_. After Siberia," Tony whispered, and Steve's fingernails dug into the palm of the other hand in an effort to hold him back from… _something_.

" _After_ , I dreamed of… well, you would think it was my parents that I dreamed of, but no, not really, and in some really fucked up way that made me feel guilty. Like I was dishonoring them by not having a nightmare about them. I'm some form of messed up, aren't I?" he queried self-deprecatingly, but Steve knew the question was rhetorical. He knew it by the way Tony held himself, knew it as well as Bucky's own tells.

"I dreamed of the shield, Steve." And at his name, Steve's eyes snapped up to meet Tony's, which were now turned towards him. But in them, he didn't find fear shining. Instead, there was calm acceptance, and even still some of that self-deprecation. Self- _hatred_.

"I dreamed of that shield coming down to break the reactor, leaving my suit powerless, unable to be rescued until someone realized I was missing. But… in my dreams… I still have the arc reactor in my chest. I'm still relying on it to live, and the shield came down, your face looming over me… and I die."

Steve felt a prickle in his eyes at that, and… _and_ … he had no words. He didn't know what to say. Here, his words failed him, failed _Tony_ , because he wanted to make it right, make it better… but he couldn't. He knew that, knew it too well. There was nothing to fix, not really, but it didn't mean that he couldn't still try, somehow.

"I look back on Siberia with a lot more maturity now. Rhodey and Pep really helped, but a lot of the mental leg work had to be done by me, and that took… time," Tony continued, breaking eye contact with Steve once again, and clenching his fingers into the material of his jeans covering his knees. "Or, at least, I try to be mature about it, now. I know you heard my U.N. speech, we talked about it a little, too, but we haven't had a lot of… personal time together since. When I gave that speech, I was still hurting, I was still reeling, but even a week going by gave me some distance to think about what happened. To see that there were plenty of mistakes I made, and to tell myself—and Pepper, Rhodey, Happy—that it wasn't all your fault. That it… certainly wasn't James'. I knew that, in my head, but it was hard to really believe it. But time went by and, you know me, I couldn't stop replaying everything that went down.

"I knew that you were in a tight spot, Steve. I recognized that. Even when it was going down, I was furious that they just blindsided us all with this. Even I had been surprised, as I'd not heard hide nor tail about the Accords until they were smacked down on the table in front of me. Those two-dimensional idiots who get nothing done can sometimes be wily and crafty, it seems. I didn't give them enough credit." Tony shifted a little in place, and Steve caught him casting a quick glance towards him before looking away… then back again, turning his body a little more to face Steve more fully.

"Listen to me, rehashing things that happened already, which we talked about already, at least somewhat." He grimaced, running a hand through his hair with nervous energy. "What I was trying to say is… in here…" He tapped the arc reactor, and then stopped suddenly, startled, looking down at the piece of hardware beneath the hand he was now pressing flat against it.

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was still there," he apologized faintly, and then closed his eyes, obviously willing the arc reactor to dissolve into his body once more, as it did just that.

"I never really had a chance to see your suit up close, not yet," Steve said with hushed awe, leaning forward just a little. "We never had the time, and the only time I saw you with it in battle was in Wakanda, and you were too far away for me to see it. But I'd _heard_ …" He trailed off. "I've heard enough rumors to last me a lifetime. But I can't rely on rumors, on hearsay, anymore. I've learned my lesson with that. So I ask you, Tony… what did you _do_ to yourself?"

It was the first time he'd ever dared to ask—though truly it was the only real opportunity presented to him—and he wasn't sure that he was going to receive an answer. Or, at least, not a full one.

But Tony surprised him. He always did. And here… it showed a surprising amount of trust for a man who had broken his suit, broken their friendship, nearly broken _them_ , individually, both Tony and himself.

Tony surprised him: he answered.

"Do you remember Happy, Pepper, Rhodey, and my run-in with A.I.M. and the fake Mandarin?" Tony began, and continued after Steve nodded shortly. "I told you that I'd injected myself with that… virus that A.I.M. had been manufacturing, turning people into weapons, like they tried to do with Pepper and, in a way, succeeded. I fixed my heart, pulled the shrapnel out, by perfecting the virus, Extremis. But… I knew even then that it wasn't the _true_ perfection that A.I.M. had, well," he laughed, and Steve smiled a little at the true ring to it," been _aiming_ for." And at that, Steve let out a huff of his own laughter, because really, it was good to see Tony finding some humor in terrible situations, just like he… used to. Before. _Before_.

And that wiped the smile right off of Steve's face, but Tony didn't notice. Tony was looking over Steve's shoulder, sightless, and continuing right on. "I let it lie, though, because there was no need for me to fiddle with it anymore. Pepper was fixed enough not to blow people—or herself—up, and I had fixed myself so that I didn't have to rely on the arc reactor. And good thing, because… well, I would have died in Siberia, if I hadn't, Steve, and you know it." His eyes found Steve's again, and they were flinty… but just for a moment. A small moment, and then they were back to normal again. Or, rather, their _new_ normal.

"But it still haunts me. That ' _what if?'_ I'll always wonder what would have happened if I'd still had my arc reactor. I know it didn't happen like that, and I'm pretty sure it would have changed how you and I fought, how you would have incapacitated me, if it were so, but… my body, my subconscious, there's still that bit of me in there. So when I built the suit, when I fused it with Extremis, with my body… sometimes the nightmares still take control, and I suppose… I suppose part of me misses the comforting light of the arc reactor, the way it protected me, even while it was one of the most vulnerable parts of me. The light meant safety, because it was _on_. And when… when the nightmares hit, I couldn't find a way to program out calling the suit, not like I had with the suits separate from my body. It wasn't that simple, since the suit is so… responsive. I've programmed Friday and even hardwired the suit so that I can't fire weapons when it and Friday can still detect sleep patterns, but it still gets called up. It's… unintended."

"Tell me more about Extremis," Steve prompted softly. He reached a hand out towards Tony's face and then—oh so _slowly_ —traced the skin of Tony's forehead, where lines used to be. "Not about… about what it does, because I think I can gather that just by looking at you," he said appraisingly. "You look… good. Not that you didn't look good before," he amended, blushing slightly. "But… why. Why you did it. I can _guess_ , and Tony… Tony I'm so _sorry_ , and I know that's not enough, but… But I also know that's not really why you did it. You're not that selfish, Tony. You're reckless at times, but it's to help others, even when the recklessness is to keep yourself alive so you can keep _others_ alive and—damn it," Steve whispered, letting his hand drop back into his lap. "I'm just talking in circles, sometimes, it feels like. Why did you do it, Tony?"

Tony took in a deep breath, then another, and it looked as if he were searching for the right words while also trying to hold back… tears, maybe. There was a shine to his eyes that hadn't been there before. Finally, Tony seemed to settle on what he wanted to say. "Did you see Rhodey… _after_?" he asked quietly.

And then Steve understood. With those five words, he understood it all. There was no length Tony wouldn't go to, within the bounds of morality, and maybe a little further beyond, for his best friend. For Colonel—for Brigadier General Rhodes.

Rhodes, whose back had broken in five places, and who had only been able to walk with the aid of mechanical exoskeleton assists made just for him by Tony.

Rhodes, who's back had been broken during his and Bucky's escape.

Tony wouldn't ever test something on one of his best friends, but he wouldn't _ever_ leave his friend in such a state, either.

So he'd tested it on himself. And—

"Did it work?" Steve asked into the shocked silence. "Is he…"

"Fixed. Right as rain, though I'm pretty sure there are some things that are just _Rhodey_ and are thus unfixable," Tony deflected. "He was so pissed, you have no idea. Like I hadn't just… yeah. Focused on me, the grumpy old bear..." He trailed off, a soft, fond smile tugging at his lips, and in that moment… In that moment, Steve wanted nothing else but to—

"Can I hold you?" Steve blurted out. It hadn't been at all what he'd intended to say, but when the words passed his lips he felt the immense pull within him—he _wanted_ it. He wanted to hold Tony just like he used to after nightmares. He wanted to hold him in place of telling him how wonderful a man he was, because words had always been pushed away whereas touching, holding, had not. Not as often.

Tony might not want it… but Steve, in that moment, wanted it so _desperately_ that it hurt deep inside of him.

"What? Will it make you feel better about everything that happened?" Tony snapped, but with no heat. He settled right down. "None of this makes us okay; not fully, Ca—Steve."

"I know. But I just want to hold you."

"We still haven't talked—not without beating each other's faces in—about you withholding that video from me."

"I know. And we haven't talked about you trying to kick Bucky's ass to kingdom come. But I just… miss you, okay? Us. How we used to be. How you used to come to me after these nightmares, even. And now… now I'm the one causing them. Can I hold you, just for a little? I promise we'll talk later, as much as you want. But for now… please. Tony."

"Alright, Steve. Alright."

They fell asleep tangled together in the back of the Jeep.

* * *

 _ **Sudan & Egypt** _  
_**September 1st & 2nd, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, and six & seven days after Siberia**_

Tony avoided Steve for a whole day and a half straight after that.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about what happ—

Okay, yeah, maybe that was it. Like, twenty-three percent of it. Maybe more like thirty-eight, come to think of it.

But they had finally passed into a region not patrolled by Thanos' ships, passed into an area controlled by a nearby city shored up to the gills but too small for Thanos to bother with, and Tony wanted to take every opportunity available to him to stretch his metaphorical wings. So he did.

He took to the skies the first opportunity he could, when their radios—fucking Thanos making them use old-school, low-range tech, damn it—picked up the signal from a fortified city to their west, and they were able to confirm that the air patrols gave this area a reasonably wide berth, protected as it was. For now, at least.

To feel the familiar rush of adrenaline as it coursed through his veins while he rose ever higher… it was wonderful. Almost as wonderful as the thrill when Steve had pulled him close last night, almost as—

Damn it. Nope, not thinking about that. Not yet.

It didn't matter that it was a _good_ thing, in a lot of ways. It didn't matter that it was everything he'd wanted and missed since… since _before_ —

Okay, maybe he _was_ going to think about it. He'd done so well, too, in avoiding it. He couldn't quite avoid Steve, not the thoughts, at least, but flying in his suit allowed him to at least avoid Steve's physical presence, for the most part. Friday was able to take over at times, and other times he parked his butt in the Jeep to get some rest, to settle. In the latter circumstances, he was able to nudge out the front passenger seat from either James or Natasha, launching into animated conversation with the other who was left to drive, and ignore Steve.

He tried his level best to ignore the look of hurt that had crept onto Steve's face at certain moments when he thought Tony wasn't looking. He wasn't immune, however, and he shot what he'd thought was a reassuring smile at the blond once or twice. It seemed to help, at least some.

Tony might not have been the best with emotions, but he had _learned_ from his mistakes over the years, had matured, and had come out the other side a better man—he thought. He was _pretty_ sure. Pepper said he had, so it must be true, right? Hm.

But with that awareness of emotion in others had come an awareness of emotion in himself. And, well, he wasn't always happy with what he found.

Well… it wasn't like he was _un_ happy with this situation—uh, what he _thought_ was the situation, but he'd been wrong before, and well, he knew what they said about the word 'assume'...

Damn it. His mind was all over the place. It had been just over a day and a half since he'd curled up against Steve, who had been _comforting_ him after he had _apologized_ to him, and then they had fallen asleep, waking up in a tangle of limbs and mussed hair, and just… _fuck_. He was so _screwed_.

He hoped that what was happening was actually happening. He'd learned to read Steve like a book over the years, even _with_ what had happened during that _stupid_ Accords shit. But he was also scared. Scared in a way he hadn't been with Pepper. Pepper had been… easy. Hard, but easy, in a way. It was hard to explain, even to himself, sometimes. But Steve was just… him and Steve, there was nothing simple about that. They came with baggage stacked a mile tall, and they had literally _fought_ each other, harming each other in more ways than one. That wasn't just something he, they, could ignore. It was… it was a part of them.

But… but. His mind told him that that could be resolved. He and Steve had a history of fighting, to one degree or another, but they always got over it. They always found a way to work past it, to make it work, and then they made things better than ever. They worked together, had led the team, in ways that still astounded him since he had never functioned well with _anyone_ like that before. Even he and Rhodey couldn't get along like that.

They could really, truly, _work_.

And that was part of what scared him.

Never mind the fact that he had only ever dated one person seriously, and look where that had gotten him.

Yeah, there was no ignoring this one.

He was so, _very_ screwed.

Oh! And! Never mind the fact that it didn't necessarily mean that this was actually happening. Steve might have just been looking to cuddle him again because of… comfort. Friendship. Maybe. He wasn't sure. Oh, for fuck's sake, he was even getting exasperated with _himself_ now.

This was ridiculous.

He needed to get his ass back down there and sit his ass in the back seat with Steve again—or the front, if Steve was driving—and act like he wasn't some schoolboy with his first crush. He needed to smile, needed to just _be there_ , and try to act as normally as he possibly could like someone who was trying to heal a friendship that had been stomped on, with said friend who had stomped on it. Well. He had done plenty of stomping, too, but yeah.

Yeah… he'd get his ass down there and try.

Plus, they were coming up on Cairo, and it wasn't so great to fly around their trigger-happy surface-to-air missile handlers.

He was also pretty sure that Nat had something up her sleeve.

Tony smiled, looking forward to whatever it was, and banked back towards the Jeep.

But she wouldn't tell him what it was immediately. She said she would have to wait like a good boy until she could figure out a few more details—by _herself_ , thank you James—and so he grumpily settled back in his seat to wait. After a few minutes he turned to his back seat partner.

"So... why did you decide to take the name White Wolf? Last we spoke, you'd still been waffling on the decision, and I was just…" Tony trailed off.

"Curious?" James replied, somewhat bemusedly.

"Yeah, that." Tony casually bumped James' shoulder with his own and then retreated back into the cradle of his seat. Tony could tell that James was ignoring Steve and Nat, who had both perked up—even Nat, who'd said she'd been too busy _working_ , the liar—and so he ignored them just the same.

"I wanted something that wasn't who I used to be, and wasn't who I'd been made into. I wanted something that was me, now, different than all those old aspects of me," James replied simply, shrugging one shoulder and then dropping it.

Tony nodded along in silent understanding for a moment, before letting a smile tug at his lips. He elbowed James and threw in, "Plus, you would never forgive yourself if you made Shuri pout by denying the nickname, huh?"

James rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. "Lord, she holds the world hostage with that look. Once she heard us testing out the name on comms, there was _no_ turning back."

Tony tilted his head back and laughed, James joining him a moment later with a more reserved chuckle of his own.

* * *

 _ **Outskirts of Cairo, Egypt** _  
_**Same day: September 2nd, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, and one week after Siberia** _  
_**Early afternoon**_

Yup, he'd been right. Nat had definitely had something cooking, and he and the others were dealt into the game later that afternoon after Nat had met with a contact in a small town just outside of Cairo.

He'd looked askance at Nat at first, but she'd firmly told him that it was something they absolutely _must_ pick up on the way through. It was something being held by one of her black market gang contacts, no less; for Christ's sake, Nat. Tony had looked at James, whose eyes were sparkling at the prospect of excitement—hopefully not as much as he so obviously was dreaming about, because those dreams of James' inevitably led to _bloodshed_ —and then at Steve, who had a look of determination set on his features that meant Tony wouldn't ever be able to pry him loose from the idea, no matter how uncomfortable the idea might be to Steve himself.

If that's what they had to do, then Steve wouldn't be budged.

And _that_ was how he'd found himself acting as Steve's boyfriend, on a double date with James and Natasha.

How fucking cliché could things get? Not much more than that, he was pretty sure. It was like he was in some Harlequin Romance… not that he'd ever read those. But he'd heard… things.

He was pretty damn sure that it wasn't necessary, but Natasha had looked at him loftily and informed him that, "Yes, it really is. My contact runs a couple's lounge, and he frowns on anyone who comes in looking suspicious and calling attention to his less-than-legal activities. So we all have to play the game when we go meet with him." But he swore he saw a glint in her eye as she darted her gaze quickly between him and Steve, and that made _him_ suspicious, never mind the _club_. It made him wonder how much she knew about his feelings. Like a fucking Betazoid, that one, with looks far superior to Troi.

If anyone could suss it out on a glance, it was her.

So he'd sighed and looked at Steve, and Steve looked back, and he knew he was done for. Steve looked even _more_ determined, jaw set, shoulders back, and was… _God damn it_ , there was a faint pink blush rising above his collar and at the tips of his ears.

Dead. He was _dead_. Gone and buried, alert the media.

"Fine," he'd croaked out, then cleared his throat a little. "Where's it at?" he asked. "What do we have to do?"

* * *

 _ **The Court of the Nile Lounge, Cairo, Egypt** _  
**Same day: September 2nd, 2017**  
One year, two months, and one week after Siberia  
 **Just past suppertime**

The plan was relatively simple—likely deceptively so, considering Natasha felt it necessary to bring him and Tony inside as back-up, along with Bucky: they were to grab a table near the back, order a few drinks, and Natasha was going to give a piece of paper containing the passphrase to one of the wait-staff and wait until she was called in. They just had to… act like a couple until then. Easy. Not a problem.

Steve was going to kill Nat.

Okay, maybe not. That was harsh, but seriously, it was like she was out to get him. She'd figured out his feelings once upon a time, had kept quiet, but he'd _seen_ the way she'd looked at him when she'd explained it all.

The only thing that had stopped him from calling her out on it was—well, besides Tony being _right there_ —that her reasoning made perfect sense. As it always did.

Remind him never to get on her bad side—her _real_ bad side.

But no, it made sense. The lounge was couples only—he'd double-checked that on the door—and was underground, meaning that there were only two exits, front and kitchen, and thus meant that in case things went south, Nat would need all the back-up she could get.

It made sense. Unfortunately. Or fortunately.

Both. It could be both, couldn't it?

Because the feel of Tony's arm wrapped around his waist as they waited for a table to open up was both heaven and hell.

 _Thank you_ , Nat.

And Bucky—who had just _laughed_ at him as silently as he could when Tony's back was turned.

But Steve was nothing if not determined to _not_ ruin their cover, and if this was what he had to do, then he'd damn-well do it. There was no way that he was going to mess this op up. There'd been plenty of times he'd had to do things that were hard to stomach— _not_ that this was something unpalatable… no, it was something from his wildest dreams—in the war, and he'd received plenty enough acting lessons to make him good at it.

So, this was just another mission.

Except it _wasn't_.

But it was, also, and he needed to do his damn job if they were to make it through to the other side. The place didn't look like it was on the wrong side of the law—well, what little there was of it in most places in recent months—but he could see little signs here and there that stood out to him even from a first glance. The vague outline of weapons, both knives and guns, were at the smalls of backs, at ankles, or on the thighs of every staff member. The two bartenders were muscled men who couldn't quite shake military haircuts. There were extra security cameras in the room, beyond what a normal club, bar, or lounge might have. And there was a man dressed very finely on the upper, open level who had a clear view of every patron in the underground club… and who had a sharp gaze, one which Steve was sure took in just as much as Steve's did.

They were all reason enough for them to be extra careful, and so Steve had let Nat talk him out of the twin shields T'Challa had gifted him, instead strapping a knife to each of his ankles in a way that he never would have been able to make unrecognizable, let alone in a way that would allow him to walk without awkwardness. Not like Nat or Bucky—they were damn _masters_ at hiding about a dozen different weapons on them, and all without being able to tell one bit that they were carrying half an armory under the clothes Nat had practically pulled out of thin air.

So Steve was carrying two knives instead of his shields.

And Tony was carrying _nothing_.

Well, Steve amended to himself, not nothing. Tony's whole _body_ was a living armor these days. A living _weapon_. He wasn't defenseless, and really… Tony never had been. Tony was always more than capable of taking care of himself, even when it seemed like he wasn't. He always managed to pull himself through, sometimes in the most spectacular of fashions.

So… he allowed himself to relax, taking a breath before slipping more deeply into his role.

The role that emulated what he wished his life could be.

Steve tugged Tony in just a little closer and dipped his head towards the man's head, lightly breathing in the scent of _Tony_ —of… of _home_ , frankly—before brushing his lips across the hairs on the crown of his head. Tony froze, just for a moment, but then uncoiled his muscles and pushed himself back a little until he could look up into Steve's eyes. His gaze was searching, brown eyes bright, lips slightly parted.

He looked… perfect. Perfectly delicious.

Steve had always wanted to kiss that mouth of his—even when they were fighting—and now was no exception. Definitely not.

"What?" Tony asked, voice hitching.

Oh sweet Jesus, Steve was in _so_ much trouble.

Mindful of the eyes and ears on them, Steve reached up with his other hand and pushed one of Tony's curls off of his forehead—it promptly fell right back where it had been—with a soft smile, saying, "Nothing," while being well-aware that it was anything _but_.

Tony paused for a moment, and then murmured, soft enough that only Steve and Bucky would have a chance of hearing it, and angled so that none of the cameras could catch his lips moving, "You're very good at this acting thing."

 _It's not acting_ , he wanted so desperately to say. _It's not acting, Tony. I lo—_

"All for the sake of the… this," he found himself saying instead.

Which, as he watched Tony flinch just a little, hurt passing across his—he looked so _young_ now—features before being wiped away in favor of one of his press smiles… was quite likely the exact _opposite_ of what he should have said.

Steve wasn't stupid. He could read a person. How else had he survived so many years behind enemy lines and running specialized ops?

So no, Steve wasn't stupid. He could put two and two together. Tony was… Steve didn't think that Tony had wanted it to be an act. Even if perhaps Tony didn't quite want exactly what Steve wanted, he wanted… something. And now Steve had put his foot in it and maybe ruined his chances. His chances at that… something.

Hopefully it wasn't too late.

Before he could say anything, the hostess had returned, gesturing for them to follow. Tony moved to follow, stepping out of Steve's hold, but not before Steve could grab his hand. A shiver coursed through his body at the contact, skin against skin, warm and dry, but luckily Tony was looking away from him. He didn't notice. Hopefully. There was no telling exactly what Extremis had done to Tony beyond the obvious, beyond what they had all pieced together over the months of working with him and the few times they'd seen each other in battle, and the fewer still he'd fought close enough to the man to guess at anything further.

Tony had been remarkably reticent on the details of what exactly he'd done to himself. What he'd told Steve the other night was likely more than anyone knew outside of Rhodes, Vision, and _maybe_ Ms. Potts. Which was… fair. Considering everything that had happened. How Steve had easily been able to disable Tony's suit—well, not _easily_ , because damn that man could fight—because he knew more about the armor at that point than most other people… he'd been able to do so much _damage_.

So, yes, Steve knew exactly why Tony was playing his cards so close to his chest.

Steve would, if he were in his position.

Shunting his thoughts to the side as unnecessary for the moment—the past was in the past, and as hard as it was to forget, sometimes he just _had_ to—Steve brought his focus fully back to the situation. He gripped the hand he was holding a little more tightly, and put a smile on his face. A quite genuine smile, because it felt so _good_ to be working with Tony again, no matter their differences, no matter their past. And it felt good to just _be_ with Tony. Not like… that, no, though Steve sincerely hoped one day… but no, just being with Tony in the same room felt good. Right. _Normal_. As normal as breathing, though perhaps not as easy as such.

Couples smiled at them as they passed, most seeming to be thoroughly enjoying their dinners or drinks, and the general atmosphere of the place was one of relief. Of being able to let go for just one night, just one hour, just one drink, while there was an apocalyptic threat looming over their heads. Steve had seen the same during the war, especially in occupied territories, cities, villages. People taking what they could for themselves, yes, but in that circumstance, _this_ circumstance, they would share what they had with others. Enjoy time with each other, let themselves go a little, maybe more, in the looming shadow of the threat approaching them.

He didn't begrudge them that at all.

It was only human nature, after all. You couldn't begrudge someone being what they were. At least, not when it didn't seem to be harming others.

They arrived at a booth near the back of the lounge, and Steve gestured for Tony to climb in on their side first, leaving the spy and assassin to take the bench seat against the back wall. It bothered Steve to not be able to see the majority of the room, to have so many unknowns behind him, but he knew it would bother Bucky and Natasha far more. Plus, he trusted them to have his back. Quite literally, in this case. And this way, at least, he could watch the kitchen door not too far away from them, which led to the only other exit in the place, and the three other doors leading to two washrooms and a single private office.

Once they were in the booth, they weren't quite shut off from sight from the rest of the lounge, so they still needed to keep up their cover, but not _quite_ as heavily… Still, Steve leaned his shoulder against Tony's, not quite able to help himself. He would take any chance offered to him, honestly. And now that he'd seen what had been in Tony's eyes…

Yup, that look.

Tony had turned his head to look at Steve and instead caught his eyes. The expression was there, briefly, but it had been _real_. An expression of hunger and want that was quickly smothered and replaced by a more flirtatious glance. One that was much less real, though hard to tell if you didn't know who Tony was.

Steve smiled at him, honest, and watched as Tony's eyes dilated just that little bit further, his breaths coming just that little bit quicker, and if _this_ was what he got with just a smile, with a casual brushing of shoulders, after holding his hand on the way over, then—

Bucky cleared his throat, snapping Steve right out of it, though he was a lot smoother about it than Tony, who recoiled away from Steve as if he'd been burned.

Steve would be insulted if he hadn't been looking into his eyes just that moment before, and had _seen_ the desire in them.

For all their past, for all their troubles, they had enough good history between them to overcome it all, and Steve fully planned to.

This time Natasha was the one who cleared her throat, and Steve finally realized that he was still staring at Tony, but Tony had looked away, so he was staring at Tony's cheek, which was showing a hint of color.

Hah, he had made the nearly unflappable flirt _blush_.

Despite the rush of adrenaline in his veins, the mere concept of that, let alone the sight, actually made Steve settle more than before, and so he was able to let Tony lie for a little. Leave him be.

Just for a little while.

He could get back to his… flirting in a bit.

Steve finally turned to face the other two, and pasted the most shit-eating grin on his face that he could.

Natasha sighed.

Bucky grinned.

Tony scrunched his eyes closed.

"So," Steve drawled. "What's good to eat?"

They looked at their menus for a few moments, the tension settling slightly in the air between them all, and finally settled on two appetizers and drinks for all of them. Leaving Bucky to place her drink order for her, Natasha slipped off to the bathroom. But Steve saw her enter the private office with nary a stutter to her steps, smooth as silk, and was sure that if someone hadn't been specifically watching her, they wouldn't have seen it.

Not that they needed to be _super_ sneaky with this op. A simple cover to enter the premises, keep up the ruse of being couples, and just… enjoy themselves. However they could. Settle in, keep their eyes open, and let Natasha speak to the owner, who had some tech that Natasha had heard would be of interest to them in their fight against Thanos.

Monster that that… _thing_ was, they would take any advantage they could get.

Thus this op here in Cairo. Thus the whole point of them traveling to Norway to bring Steve to _Mjolnir_ of all things. What was it doing _there_? He'd thought about it since, but had never quite wanted to ask Tony about it.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what had happened to Thor, to have left Mjolnir shattered and being repaired by one of the Aesir, Lady Sif, whom he had only ever heard of in passing. Though, apparently, she had been on Earth for the better part of two years by now, and off and on for two years before that.

He didn't quite know what to make of the fact that Tony thought he could lift Mjolnir. That he believed in Steve to the point of dropping everything in order to get Steve there by whatever means necessary, because he truly felt, Tony and T'Challa both, that it could turn the tide of war. Or even just _part_ of it. He would settle for that.

Steve knew that he'd felt something when gripping Mjolnir that one evening, years ago. He knew there was a _chance_. But to have someone put their faith in him like that? It was… touching. So very touching.

A touch to his knee brought Steve's focus back to the table. He'd still been keeping half an eye and ear out for trouble, but that wasn't enough when on an op. He'd let himself slip.

For one thing, he had barely even registered Bucky leaving the table. He'd seen him do it, but hadn't really… reacted.

He was letting too much pass him by.

"How long has Bucky been gone?" he asked Tony.

Tony smirked at him, placing an elbow on the table and resting his cheek in the palm of his hand as he turned to face Steve on the bench. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Steve just glowered right back at him.

Tony grinned, and then took pity on him. "A couple minutes. He mentioned something about checking on the little spider, so off he went, leaving you and I… _alone_." His voice lowered at the last.

Ah, _shit_.

It was one thing to go after Tony when he thought he had the upper hand, but a completely other thing when the prey became aware… and a _completely_ other thing when said prey started to stalk you back.

Especially one like Tony.

Tony reached out his free hand, the one he wasn't propping himself up with, and traced a random pattern against the weave of Steve's supplied dress pants. Then he smiled at Steve, a completely different one than before, this one sultry, and leaned in, chin coming up and out of its place on his hand. He leaned in towards Steve, and whispered, "So…"

Steve felt like he was going to die. Could feel himself blushing pure crimson, from chest through neck to cheeks. It was awful. It was mortifying. He knew how he looked when he colored like this.

But it was also _exhilarating_.

"There's a man behind you, at the bar," Tony said, still smiling, still leaning in closer.

Ah. So it was all… an act? Now Steve knew how Tony had felt not too long ago.

But…

"What's he doing?" Steve whispered back, playing casual, making sure not to tense up.

"Looking this way, trying to get a good look at me. I think… I think he might recognize me, possibly you, but can't quite see because your back is turned and you're covering his sightlines to me pretty well," Tony explained, just as casually.

A tail? Steve could do something about that. He knew how to get their eyes off of them. "Public displays of affection," Steve stated without even trying to hide his glee at the opportunity. It was sneaky, it was underhanded, it was definitely with ulterior motives… but it was a _chance_. And he'd take it.

"What?" Tony managed to get out before Steve's lips came down upon his, silencing him.

Well, not quite. Tony let out a muffled little yelp, obviously shocked, but most of the sound was drowned out by Steve's lips pressing firmly against his, and the rest was covered by the ambient noise of the lounge's crowd.

But Steve reeled Tony in, pressing one hand against the center of his back and pushing Tony against Steve's chest, and the other was pressed against the small of Tony's back. Tony seemed to get it after a moment, his eyes widening slightly and then gaining a note of acquiescence… and then he closed his eyes and pushed firmly into Steve's space, gripping Steve's shirt at his chest and the pants over his thighs with each hand, crumpling the fabric, but Steve couldn't give two shits about the clothes because _Tony was kissing him right back_.

And that was all that mattered in the moment.

Sure, there was a part of him that was aware they were being watched. But it was like the gazes were sliding off of them, paying no mind to the slight embarrassment Steve was still feeling at the public display. Paying no mind to the way the rest of Steve's mind was whirling, thrilling, _rushing_. Tony let out a muffled little gasp, lips parting just slightly as Steve experimentally soothed his tongue over the crease of his lips, and then he was pressing in, taking advantage of the moment even more, and their tongues were tangling, mouths hot, breaths quick and gasping, and Steve knew—he _knew_ that they were going beyond what was necessary, he _knew_ that they were creating more of a show than they had been before, drawing eyes instead of diverting them, but he also knew that no one would be able to tell who the back of the blond belonged to, never mind the brunet in his arms, tucked against his chest, chin tilted back so that he could kiss him, kiss _Steve_.

It was _glorious_.

And then Steve was pulling away, but not too far. He needed to pull back before he got too into it, before he gave himself away— _very_ likely too late for that—but also before they created a scene that would be way more than what they needed. If they hadn't already. Steve surreptitiously glanced around at what he could see of the lounge and, well, they'd definitely gained some oglers.

Whoops.

"Tony," he began, breathless. He pulled the man in a little closer, watching every detail in Tony's eyes as he did so. It was… _he_ was beautiful. Those eyes, and what he could see in them… There _had_ to be more than lust. There had to be more to them, to how he felt about Steve, than just the desire for sex.

Surely. Surely, there must.

He needed to say something, before it was too late. He needed to say something while he still had the opportunity.

"Is he gone?" he asked instead.

 _Damn it_.

He registered a flash of confusion in Tony's eyes, a flash of hurt, but then… understanding, as well, and perhaps all was not lost.

Except for his smoothness with dames and fellas, which Bucky would argue—and Steve agree with—that he never had in the first place.

Tony peeked over Steve's shoulder, just a little, making sure to keep himself mostly hidden, mostly still, though Steve could feel him trembling beneath his hands which he had yet to remove. "Yeah, he's gone, but I'm not sure where to, so I can't say for certain if he made us or not. Good thinking there, though," he added, flashing a grin up at Steve.

That was it. He couldn't handle this anymore, seriously.

He reeled Tony in for another kiss, this one lighter, more tender, and just as real—and he was pretty sure Tony knew exactly how real it was, because he melted into his arms, into his embrace, pressing himself even tighter against Steve, and he was _kissing him back_ , so tenderly, so softly, making these tiny little noises that were just so perfect…

And then Natasha was there, and he saw the flash of her red hair as she sprinted up to the table, and he pulled back, about to ask what was wrong, but she beat him to it—

"Fuck," Nat said with wide eyes, all the warning Steve needed to ready himself, despite what he had just been doing, despite how relaxed he had become, despite how _unaware_ he'd been. It was all Steve needed, because Nat showing _fear_ like that… "Run!" she yelled, Bucky hot on her heels as she ran past the booth, tugging Steve's sleeve just a little before letting go and reaching for a gun to compliment her already sparking Widow's Bite.

And then it all went to hell.

There was a loud bang, and a shockwave emanated from the back office that Natasha had obviously just ran out of, sending him flying, losing track of Nat and Bucky as his world tilted. But Tony, in his arms, was right there with him, and Steve held tight. He held tight and twisted himself around as they flew so that he would take the brunt of the landing on his back and shoulders.

Unfortunately it allowed him a front row seat to watch as Tony's eyes flared open with shock, as he reached up to clutch desperately to Steve's collar, and then, a bare second later… Tony passed out, before he even had a chance to call up the suit. Steve got a front row seat, within mere seconds, to watching one of the most vivacious men he knew crumple in his arms, boneless, practically lifeless.

Maybe… maybe he _was_. Oh fu—

As soon as Steve could, he got his knees underneath of him and dragged himself and Tony behind one of the large support pillars, and then pressed his fingers against the pulse in Tony's neck.

A beat. Another. Strong—stronger than it used to be, Steve remembered, when Tony had had the arc reactor still embedded in him. It was there, but Tony was unconscious. Steve quickly and professionally patted Tony down and checked him all over for injuries, but he was okay. He was just… out.

"What's the situation?" he asked Bucky as the man crawled towards him, words nearly lost in the chorus of whimpers and crying civilians.

"Those _fucks_ have pitched in with fucking _Thanos_!" Bucky spit out.

Steve's mind stuttered for just a moment. A moment, and then it was back in full force, in full capacity, assessing the situation through the help of his increased cognitive abilities and sensory awareness. Back of the lounge, and thus one exit, shrouded in debris and dust. Front of the lounge, and the other exit, jammed with panicking, fleeing civilians—as well as the armed waitstaff who were making their way against the flow of the crowd and into defensible positions. The bar… there was the immediate threat. The two bartenders, and four—a shot splintered the limestone of the pillar above his head—no, five of the waitstaff had amassed there. The five waitstaff had simple handguns, but the bartenders had what looked like alien weaponry in their hands.

Fucking hell. Bucky was right.

What could ever entice _humans_ to join forces with an alien presence bent on occupying—and if unsuccessful, _destroying_ —Earth? What could they possibly hope to gain… No. No, Steve knew that these people were opportunists, seeking short term gain, power, control, money even, over their fellow countrymen, over _anyone_. He had seen it in the war, even when the people had known what evil they were aligning themselves with.

Steve could understand it intellectually, but could never _ever_ sympathize or empathize with their choices. He would never understand it in his _heart_.

Natasha joined them in that moment, saving Steve from having to think any further on the unpalatable topic. His mind was a wonderful thing to have, quick and able to process almost anything simultaneously, but that also meant he wasn't able to distract himself as easily.

Sometimes it was a curse.

"What happened?" he asked Natasha. He knew she would give him more of a cool assessment than Bucky's terse and angry response. The bullets were still coming their way, so they all huddled in close, over Tony's prone form.

 _Tony_ …

No, no time. Get them out, _then_ worry.

"We were made from the start," Nat replied, pushing her hair off of her face and grimacing as it pulled through the steadily trickling gash on her forehead. She quickly tied it at the nape of her neck, away from her face—not something Steve was used to seeing on her, but practical in this situation—and flicked her eyes in all directions, gaze quick and assessing. "I could tell something was wrong, but not quite what. I kept her talking, trying to gain some information as to what was going on, but eventually I knew we had to get out. And that's when she knew she had to strike, or we'd be gone. Her partner pulled out her own gun but it was…" She grimaced, and tilted her head in the bar's direction. "Like those. Alien tech. Something from Thanos or one of his allies, I think."

Bucky grimaced along with her. "I was off to the side and didn't get the effect of the weapon; it went right through the wall and towards where you both were sitting. It was like it was aimed your way and she was caught incidentally."

They all looked at Tony.

"Ah," Nat let out on a quiet breath.

"We need to get out of here and _quick_ ," Steve announced—stating the obvious, he knew. "We're outgunned a little more than even I like to handle, and that alien tech…"

"I took out my contact and her partner in the office, and the kitchen only has two conventionally-armed staff members," Nat offered succinctly.

Bucky turned to her and grinned, teeth flashing white through the side curtain of his hair. "Wish I'd seen that."

"You wish."

And that's when Steve knew they'd get out just fine. He didn't even bother telling them to cut the chatter. Instead, he drew one of the knives Nat had strapped to his ankles, hefted Tony over his shoulder while he was still crouched, and gestured at Natasha and Bucky. "Lead the way."

* * *

 _ **Outskirts of Cairo** _  
_**Same day: September 2nd, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, and one week after Siberia**_

Once they were safely beyond the sprawl of Cairo, Bucky turned towards him, frown plastered across his features. Steve could tell he was worried about Tony, probably just as much as Steve was, but he left the fussing to Steve, choosing not to get in the way of Steve's fierce desire to protect the other man.

Steve could feel the weight of Bucky's gaze as if it were truly tangible.

"You've gotta tell him, Steve," Bucky said. There was no teasing to be found in his voice, in his inflection, in his tone, in his words. Not like the other times Bucky had teased him for crushes—for _this_ crush. This… no, it was beyond a crush for Steve. It had been for a _long_ fucking time.

Bucky was right. He _did_ need to tell him.

Bucky was too often right about everything—always had been—and knew Steve better than anyone else did, even Tony.

"Yeah, you're right," Steve murmured, hand skimming over Tony's brow and then pulling him closer against his chest.

Bucky didn't even tease him for that—so yeah, Bucky was _definitely_ worried.

"It could be the end of the world, Steve," he said simply, even though Steve had already agreed. But it seemed important for him to get these words out. "We have to play with the hand we're dealt, but we also have to take those chances, not let things slip through our fingers while we have the chance to hold them. I know I'm mixing metaphors here, Steve, but _damn it_ , he's a good man, and you are, too, and I… I don't know, Steve. Just… tell him."

A beat. Two.

"I will, Bucky. I promise."

"Good. That's… good." And then Bucky turned back around, and Steve pretended he didn't see the way he reached for Natasha's hand, gripping it firmly, but not too tightly, with his mechanical hand.

Steve brushed his lips against Tony's forehead, then pressed them to his skin. He held himself there for long minutes, just breathing in the smell of the man, feeling his cool skin beneath the moist flesh of his lips. It was… it could have been perfect, except for the fact that Tony _wouldn't wake up_.

What if… what _if_.

No. No, he couldn't think that way. Not now that they were so close to figuring each other out. To figuring out… _them_.

"I love you, Tony Stark," he murmured against the other man's forehead, then pressed a kiss to the skin once more before tucking Tony's crown of messy brown hair beneath his chin. "Just wake up so I can tell you in person. Please. _Please_."

Another beat.

"I don't want to be without you for that long ever again."

* * *

"Hey Nat?" Steve asked a little later, in the early morning hours, Tony wrapped up tight in his arms but still unconscious.

"Yes, Steve?" she replied, not taking her eyes off the course they were taking through the darkness broken up only by the occasional light at a distance.

"I've…" He took a deep breath. "I've been meaning to ask, for a while now… Um." Bucky looked at him funnily, raising one eyebrow, and it was that look that had Steve scowling and finally completing his thought. "I admit I never really… read the S.H.I.E.L.D.-generated portion of Tony's file, just the external sources. I don't even really know why. I guess I just… I dunno, I didn't read anyone's honestly, except for yours and Clint's, since you worked for them. I guess I didn't want to pry into secrets they could otherwise tell me. But, um… I finally saw what you wrote about him in your assessment and just… _why_?" He wasn't angry. He really wasn't. It was in the past, and they obviously got along now, even though he knew they'd had to work and fight hard for that. Especially after Nat had let him and Bucky go in Leipzig.

Nat was silent for a bit, but he could see the clench of her jaw from his seat beside her in the front, and so he waited her out. He knew she'd answer, though on her own terms. Bucky was unnaturally quiet, but Steve didn't dare try to catch a glimpse of what his reaction was. Bucky had seen the files as well and, though he was pretty sure he'd already spoken to Nat about it, Bucky had been pretty damn livid at the time.

"I… admit that I was in error with that assessment," Nat finally allowed, the words coming out as if they were being pulled from deep within her against her will. Perhaps it was hard for her to speak about. Steve felt a smidgen of regret for asking, but it was washed away with her next words. "I was biased going in. He was… a lot of what I hated about humankind, about men in particular. He was everything capitalist that I still struggle to try not to hate too much. It was ingrained in me from… since I can remember. He had money, opportunity, privilege, and he was abusing so much of it and I just… I was biased," she repeated again. She still wouldn't look anywhere but past the steering wheel. "I know now, and perhaps I did even then, though I wouldn't admit it, that I had made up my mind before I ever stepped foot within a Stark Industries interview."

There was silence for a little while longer as Nat worked her jaw. He knew she had more to say, and so he waited. Steve hadn't seen her this agitated in a _long_ time, and she was much more open with them than anyone else. A nearly completely different person from when he first met her. When he first… judged her without knowing _who_ she was.

"He's completely different from what I assumed," she said eventually, echoing his thoughts, and this time she flicked her gaze towards Steve and then back away again, quickly. "He's one of the best of mankind. One of the best of us. He pushes me, as I push him, as we all do, now. And we make each other better. But he's…"

"Yep," Bucky agreed.

After another moment, after realizing that Nat was done, Steve breathed out his own agreement. "Yeah."

* * *

 _ **Just past Bratislava, Slovakia** _  
_**September 5th, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, one week, and three days after Siberia**_

Tony woke up, for a brief moment, head in Steve's lap as the Jeep roared along, traveling faster than they had since the start of the trip. He could tell by the movement of the car, without even opening his eyes, just like he could tell it was Steve he was lying on by the scent of… well, Steve.

The Jeep jolted underneath them again and Tony thought, distantly, that that must have been what had woken him.

The last thing he could remember had been a jolt much like that, and then he'd gone flying, Steve's arms wrapped tight around him—oh. _Steve's arms around him._ Oh.

"How long?" he rasped out.

His eyes fluttered open and, though everything else was dim and fuzzy, immediately locked onto Steve's face. The blond released a long exhale and then tried to smile. It was hard to hear him past the roaring in his ears, but he thought he heard Steve say something that sounded like, "Three days," and, "I thought you were supposed to be harder to take down with Extremis."

Tony couldn't quite tell if he'd heard him correctly.

But Tony _could_ tell, as he focused as hard as he could on Steve and nothing else, letting everything else fall by the wayside… He could tell by the paleness of Steve's newly-tanned skin and the pinched look in his eyes, that Steve was barely holding it together. He might be trying to joke, but it was only to deflect—an action Tony knew intimately and one that didn't sit quite right on Steve.

"I could have lost you," Steve whispered, as if it was some deep, dark secret.

And… and maybe it was.

"I don't feel right—" was all he could get out before the darkness overwhelmed him again.

"How's Wakanda?" Steve asked Natasha as she arrived back at their campsite for the night. He'd spent most of her time away trickling some water down Tony's throat and checking his vital statistics with what they had on hand in the medical supplies—probably for the twentieth time too many, if the way Bucky had gently pried the equipment out of Steve's hands was any indication. Now Tony was bundled up in their extra blankets, as safe as Steve could make him for now, as comfortable as they could get him, and Nat was back with news that would hopefully not make anything _worse_.

Nat had walked into town to access one of the radio communication relay centers which had been set up at strategic and redundant locations across the world. It took time, but messages could still be passed around, and the four of them had made a point to check in at every center they passed on their way north. They would send coded messages back to Wakanada, and would check to see if any—also coded—messages had been sent ahead to wait for them. It worked, after a fashion, and reminded Steve of certain missions during the war.

"I'm pretty damn sure Tony's kids are trying to take over the world with Shuri," Natasha grumbled.

That drew a delighted laugh from Steve. He loved Shuri, and had really liked the little he'd gotten to know about Tony's mentees, Harley and Peter, and Peter's friends MJ and Ned as well, who Peter had refused to leave behind. Together they were fiercely protective of Tony—even Shuri… _especially_ Shuri; she treated Tony not just like an older brother, but also as if he were one of her own. As if she were in truth his princess, in the quite literal term it was when applied to her. She treated him and Bucky both like that, more than any of the rest of them, and it was really quite astounding to see that the two of them _accepted_ it as well. But besides Shuri, their history and the public nature of everything that happened between him and Tony had all translated into a slow start for him getting to know the other four, Peter especially. But, still... he approved greatly of Tony having so many more people looking out for him nowadays.

"Y'know…" Steve began slyly, even if tiredly. "There's an idea. We could let the five of them loose on Thanos. The war would be wrapped up in a week. A week and a half tops."

Nat's answering smirk made him smile—even if just a little bit—for what felt like the first time in days.

Since before Tony had collapsed.

But the way he had woken earlier had been good. Steve refused to believe it meant anything other than that Tony would be back with them—with _him_ —and cracking jokes soon enough.

* * *

 _ **Just before Hamburg, Germany** _  
_**September 6th, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, one week, and four days after Siberia** _  
_**Late evening, near midnight**_

He woke up as if a switch had been flipped.

Tony's eyes snapped open, his breath stalling in his chest, and his body tensing. There was something _wrong_ —huh. There was an arm looped over his hip, pressed tight over his belly, and tucked under the other side of him against the other hip which was against hard ground—though he could tell that it was warmed by the fire that was flickering behind him, just visible at the edge of his peripherals. Extremis allowed him to process things so much easier, so much quicker, than before, and all without artificial aids like caffeine or sugar.

Not that Extremis wasn't artificial, but—

"Tony."

Except, apparently, Extremis hadn't quite processed that the one whose arm was around him, whose front he was pressed against comfortably, the warmth soothing him… yeah, well, he'd missed that.

Quite the oversight.

He tried to say the man's name but couldn't quite get it out, so he swallowed, wet his lips, and tried again. "Steve," he finally managed to get out, just as quietly as Steve's voice had been. Well, he wasn't quite sure he could talk louder yet, anyway. It felt like he'd been dry-swallowing sandpaper for a whole week.

Steve moved away a little, leaving a gap big enough that Tony could recline onto his back, looking up at Steve hovering over him in a sort of half-leaning, half-sitting position. "How do you feel?" Steve asked, and lifted his hand from Tony's hip so that he could bring his fingers to hover at the crown of Tony's head. Tony held his breath, wondering if Steve would dare—

He did.

Steve brushed his fingers hesitantly over Tony's hair, then seemed to firm his resolve just that little bit more so that he could run his fingers through the strands, then press his fingers to the skin of Tony's forehead and temples.

Tony shivered.

Not that he was cold, no. No, it was all Steve. _Steve_. Tony couldn't keep his eyes off Steve's face, even though Steve wasn't catching his gaze. Tony watched as emotions played across the other man's features, and he shivered… he shivered because of what he saw.

Something that made him hope.

Something that he hoped to God and back was real. That what he had felt from Steve in the lounge—oh holy _fuck_ that had really happened, hadn't it?—was real, and not just all part of the act.

It had certainly _felt_ real. And they'd been about to say something to each other, to say… who knows what, but Tony could fucking guess. He wasn't as crap at his and others' emotions as some people might think of him.

He wouldn't have ended up where he was without some above-average awareness of the people around him. It was just that normally he didn't really _care_.

But now he cared. Oh holy _fuck_ how he cared.

"Steve?" he queried hoarsely.

"How do you feel, Tony?" Steve asked with a hint of fond exasperation. He and Pepper could team up and be a force to be reckoned with. They could—

Oh, right. Steve had asked him a question. More than once. That was why… ah.

"I'm…" he started, then stopped, trying to take stock of how he _really_ felt. Trying to remember what had _happened_. "I'm thirsty," was the first thing Tony could settle on.

"Okay, Tony. Yeah, I can help with that." And Steve leaned across Tony, reaching with the hand that had just been carding through his hair to grab at a canteen that had obviously been resting on Tony's side. Tony mourned the loss of the warm touch of his fingers against his skull, but he also got to relish in Steve pressing his wonderful, _wonderful_ , upper body against his arm and chest, muscles firm and powerful to the touch.

Within seconds the sensation was over, however. But before he could mourn that as _well_ , Steve was sitting up and pulling Tony up with him, and pressing the mouth of the canteen to his lips. Cool water coursed into his mouth, luckily at a pace that was comfortable for him, while he felt his body being cocooned by warmth from the outside. Steve had pulled him between his legs to rest against his chest, Steve's front to Tony's back once more. But this time it was so much more… intimate feeling than when they had been lying down, having just woken from sleep.

He wasn't sure if it was because they were sitting up, or because he was being more thoroughly surrounded, or because they were both pretty fully awake and aware of each other.

Yeah, Tony was definitely aware of one part of his body, for sure. _Christ_.

He squirmed just a little to make it harder for Steve to see if he peered over Tony's shoulder and down, and Steve obviously took the movement as a cue that he was finished drinking. Which, incidentally, he was. It hadn't quite been his primary goal there at the end, in any case.

"Thank you," Tony said softly, knowing Steve would be able to hear. He could see movement via his peripherals, and turned his head just a little to see Nat and Bucky sliding into the seats of the Jeep. "Where are they going?" he asked, slightly confused—though also completely willing to guess what was going on with reasonable certainty.

"Um," Steve said, obviously prevaricating. Tony sighed and twisted himself around just a little until he could rest his cheek against Steve's collarbone, still held firmly within Steve's arms. He was tired, so tired, and he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. And now Steve was being shifty. Of course he was. It wasn't like Tony was afraid of talking about what had happened between them—well, what he _thought_ had happened.

He was okay with living in denial for a little while.

"I'm tired. I feel like I was hit by a truck," he repeated, out loud this time, muttering into the fabric of Steve's shirt. "I remember the op, I remember, uh… yeah." He flushed, but knew Steve wouldn't be able to make it out in this amount of light and with the constantly shifting shadows. "And then I remember an explosion, but didn't see any fire, and I tried to call up the suit but it was like it was _stuck_ somehow, and then I don't remember anything after that. What happened?"

Tony reached for the canteen, which Steve had placed near their feet, and took a long drag of the crisp water to clear out more dryness from his throat. "And fuck, it's cold. Where are we and why are we sleeping _outside_? It's only September, so what the hell?" He tightened the lid back onto the canteen's mouth and then tucked it between his ankles so that he could reach it again easily if needed.

Instead of replying right away, Steve reached an arm behind him and patted around until he found what he was looking for. A granola bar. Two granola bars. Wait, make that three.

"Steve, are you… are you _rationing_ me?" he asked, half out of true curiosity, and half out of the desire to needle, to tease, Steve.

"What?" Steve spluttered, fumbling and dropping the last bar into Tony's lap. Four. Four granola bars. The ones which were reserved for Steve and Bucky, mainly, because of their extremely high protein content. So, not quite granola bars, but close e-freaking-nough.

Tony chuckled, and pressed the advantage. "Rationing, Steve. Come on, surely you know what that is. You only _lived it_ for how long." They had long ago passed into the realm of being able to speak lightly about the Depression, at least between the two of them, but Tony was glad to see that it didn't seem like his access to that part of their friendship had been… revoked.

"I know what it is!" Steve practically squeaked, and Tony couldn't help but to roll his head back until it was resting on the far end of Steve's shoulder, and he was able to turn his face just enough to look Steve in the eyes, visibly projecting his mirth at the man despite the low light.

"So are you?" Tony queried, raising one eyebrow at the blond.

"Um… not intentionally?" Steve answered, making it sound more question than statement.

The atmosphere around them pulled at Tony—the fire's light dancing around them with the shadows, the rustle of leaves on the trees, the chatter of owls and bugs and rodents, even—and so he blamed it for what he said next: "Well, I like it. Thank you," he stated intently. He held Steve's gaze for a few long, _long_ moments, and then adjusted himself enough that he could open the first of the protein granola bars in his lap. He ignored the twitch of the muscles in Steve's arms, which were still wrapped around him, holding him up—thank goodness, because he _really_ wasn't feeling right—as Steve obviously wondered if he should stay… or run and hide. Heh.

He took a big bite of the bar and chewed for a few seconds while Steve was still quivering around him, and then said, speaking with his mouth full—so sue him— "It's fine, Steve. Relax. Tell me what happened?" He really _did_ want to know, because he honestly felt like _ass_. And not the good kind of ass.

Steve obviously latched onto the change of topic, because his body settled a little more and he started speaking nearly right away. "We were hit by some sort of alien tech, and it knocked you out. We think it was aimed at you specifically, actually, and—we're just guessing here—that it messed with the tech and biology, chemistry, whatever, of Extremis in your system. Bucky wasn't hit by the blast, but we think his arm would probably have shorted out, too, if he had been. We didn't really stop to ask questions on the way out, though." He breathed in deeply, and settled down even more around Tony, tugging him a little closer. Probably subconsciously, Tony thought.

"Allied with Thanos?" Tony asked around another mouthful of food—God, Pepper would be _so_ mad at him if she saw him now.

"Yeah. We didn't ask to stop why, but opportunists abound during war. I've seen it too many times to count, and one time is too many, anyway," Steve said, anger shading his voice. Then he got even angrier, more tense, more upset. "You were out for _four whole days_ , Tony. Four. _Four_. You woke up briefly on the way out of Cairo, after we busted out of there, but then… nothing. Your body shut down to a low metabolic rate, so we didn't need to tend you much, but… _damn it_ , Tony, I was so… so…"

And it was like Steve couldn't hold back anymore. Steve gripped the base of Tony's skull with his large, strong hand and turned Tony to face him, barely pausing to catch Tony's gaze for a brief moment before shutting his eyes and pressing his mouth to Tony's.

Luckily Tony had been at the end of one of his mouthfuls and so he swallowed the rest and then gasped against Steve's mouth. Steve pulled back just enough for Tony to get air, and then Steve was back on him again, practically _plundering_ and _devouring_ his mouth, like he was some romance novel hero come to kiss the breath out of the fair maiden Tony.

All that and more flashed through Tony's mind within seconds, and yet he pushed it all aside for the moment, and simply relaxed into the kiss, into the passion of it all.

No, questions could happen later.

Tony moaned and turned around in Steve's arms just enough so that he could press part of his chest against Steve's, allowing Steve's tongue access into his mouth and reveling in the hot and silky sensations.

But it wasn't enough. No, not nearly enough.

Tony pushed on Steve's chest with both of the hands he had pressed between them, palms flat against the planes of his pectorals, and Steve understood him immediately, allowing himself to fall slowly, gently, until he was flat on his back. Tony hummed in contentment, pulling away for a moment so that he could push himself up a little until he and Steve were looking each other in the eye, Tony's knees to either side of Steve's waist, though he was trembling a little with the exertion of holding himself up—and likely from the thrill and rush and headiness of the situation.

He was _kissing_ Steve Rogers. For _real_ , not for some stupid mission.

Tony leaned down just that little bit more and connected their lips once more. Steve made a little sound, and Tony grinned, thrilled that he could elicit such a reaction from the man. Steve wore his heart on his sleeves sometimes, but at other times he was rather… stoic. Not now. Not this time. Here Steve lay, spread out underneath him, and he was making the most _delicious_ of noises, and there… _there_. Steve started to squirm as Tony planted kisses along the underside of his jawline, and Tony leaned back just a little and—

Oh.

Surprisingly, feeling the blatant symbol of Steve's arousal pressed against his ass was what brought him crashing back to reality. Not that… not that it was a bad thing, in this case, but he had to stop, for at least a _moment_ , and they needed to say something, because he'd thought about this too much for him to have any illusions that he and Steve might set each other off—in really _bad_ ways—if they weren't on the same page. And even then, there were no guarantees.

So Tony pulled himself a little higher up on Steve's hips until he wasn't pressed against Steve's—fucking _fantastic_ —cock, in a way that made sure he wasn't pressing his own achingly hard erection against Steve's stomach. He sat back, sitting on the lower part of the blond's abdomen, and tried to catch his breath as he placed his hands lightly on top of Steve's chest. He still wasn't quite feeling the best—what the fuck had he been _hit_ with? Holy shit, four days?

To cover up his shaking, Tony directed a smile—albeit a little guarded, because old habits died hard—at Steve, thinking to himself about how _beautiful_ the man looked in the orange glow from the fire, and said, "That was nice, Steve, but we're not undercover anymore, you know that, right?" He knew it. He knew Steve damn-well knew it. But he just couldn't _stop_ himself from deflecting, god damn it.

But Steve took it all in stride. Steve knew Tony more than Tony knew himself at times, perhaps more than Steve knew _him_ self, also, and so he barely batted an eye at what Tony chose to say right then. He blinked up at Tony, smiled— _fuck_ , what the _hell_ , that goddamn smile should be _illegal_ —and then lifted a hand up in order to tuck his forefinger into one of Tony's belt loops.

Tony gulped.

Steve's smile grew bigger.

Tony hadn't even known Steve could smile like a fucking _shark_. A fucking _sexy_ shark. Ugh, okay, no, bad mental image, bad.

"I know it's not, Tony," Steve stated simply. "I kissed you because I should have done it a long time ago. But I always wanted to."

Tony's eyes grew wide. He'd suspected, but the way that Steve said it made it sound like—

"And," Steve cut into Tony's thoughts with his words, and then derailed his mind almost entirely by tucking the thumb of his other hand under the edge of Tony's sweater in order to play with the bare skin he found beneath. _Oh holy fuck_. "And," he repeated, catching Tony's eyes, "since I know you way too well, I'll state this as clearly as I can, Tony: I'm not looking for a quick fuck. I'm looking for more. And I think you are, too. You are…" Steve grunted, as if he were trying to figure out what he was trying to say, as if he weren't blowing Tony's mind already. "You are cushlamachree. It's…" And Steve pushed himself up with the one hand until he and Tony were pressed close together, Tony practically kneeling in Steve's lap and their hot breaths mingling. "Literally translated, at least according to Ma, it means 'vein of my heart'. Tony, I tried living without you and I just _can't_. You're… you're part of me. In a way no one's ever been."

Tony was wide-eyed, his breaths coming fast and hard. He placed both hands on Steve's shoulders so that he could push himself back and give himself a little bit of space to catch his breath. "Where… where is this coming from, Steve?"

Where, indeed? It was like it came from out of left field. Just… wow. All this processing power at his mind's figurative fingertips, and he couldn't make head or tails from what had just happened. What was _still_ happening.

"I care about you," Steve said simply, his shoulders rising and falling beneath Tony's fingertips with a shrug.

"But… why?" Tony asked, and he wasn't at all surprised at the fact it came out as a disbelieving near-whine. "I'm… you…" He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "You can't like me like that. It's not possible."

"Why?" Steve asked, just as simply as his previous words spoken. "You're amazing, Tony. And I—hang on." Steve adjusted them so that he was sitting cross-legged on the ground, both of Tony's legs wrapped around Steve's waist and resting on the ground behind the blond, and one each of Steve's hands on his lower back, _beneath_ the sweater, and on the back of one of Tony's thighs.

"There," Steve sighed. "But Tony, hey, Tony, look at me, sweetheart." And Tony did, brown eyes meeting blue, and they were just so fucking earnest and honest and…

"What?" Tony whispered.

Steve held his gaze. "We've had our differences in the past, Tony. And we will again in the future. That's practically a guarantee with us. We can be each other's greatest enemies… but that's because we know each other so well. We have our differences, but they can be used to _temper_ each other. To hold the other accountable, rather than provoke. We can be so _bad_ , but we also have the capacity to be _great_ together. As friends or as… more. And I want that more. I don't know what we'd be like in two, five, ten, even twenty or more years from now, but I can guarantee that I've learned you're worth it to _try_ to be there. With you. However you'll take me."

"But…"

"Tony," Steve said fondly, and then pulled him tight against his chest and into a hug, arms wrapping tightly, but comfortingly, around his torso. "I'm sorry for everything that happened, and you've shown time and again that you are also. You're worth so much more than you think you're worth, sometimes, even though you've been so much better with that in recent years than you were before. You… you feel with all your heart, all your soul, even if you guard it most of the time. You're a good person, whether you think your scales balance out or not, and you've matured so much. You've grown, in ways I bet you never expected. So have I, but you… _you._ I can't even put it all into words Tony, but I just, I—Tony? Hey, Tony, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Steve asked, switching from earnest and ardent to concerned in a nanosecond.

Tony hadn't even realized he'd started to cry until Steve tilted his head back. No tears were falling, not quite yet, but his breaths were hitching and he was just so… so… "Nothing," Tony answered around a smile. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's… well, not everything, but this… this feels so _right_." He could see Steve's face relax with relief, and Steve offered him his own—were his lips _trembling_? Steve Rogers' lips were _trembling_ , holy shit—happy smile. "Will you hold me?"

"That's what I'm doing right now, isn't it?" Steve shot back with a little quirk of his lips.

"Smartass." Tony stuck his tongue out at him. Which was then promptly chased right back into Tony's mouth by Steve's questing lips.

And that was when the door to the Jeep flew open and something was tossed at them. "Get a fucking room, you jackasses!" Bucky exclaimed snarkily. He slammed the door shut, then opened it again. "Never mind, we'll be back in the morning for you idiots." And the door slammed shut again.

Natasha rolled down her window and said, smoothly, "We're happy you're back with us, Tony. And happy you've both stopped pining like the idiotic milksops you were acting like." Then the Jeep was started, and pulled away, leaving Tony and Steve to stare at the thing that had been thrown their way.

"What the _fuck_ do they have an unopened bottle of lube for?" Tony asked incredulously. "Wait. _Wait_. Those fuckers! They knew this whole time?" Tony stared at Steve.

Steve could only smile—and blush, holy moly was he blushing like mad right then—and pull Tony with him as he lay on his back again. He arranged Tony until he was half-sprawled across Steve's chest, ear pressed to his heart and staring into Steve's eyes. He'd somehow managed to turn them so his head was resting on top of his jacket-covered shield, and it made it easier for him to keep an eye on Tony. They both ignored the bottle, instead choosing to let each other's eyes roam over the other's features.

Tony… liked that. He felt warm from more than just the fire. From more than just the swiftly-disappearing embarrassment. From more than the still-lingering arousal. He closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into Steve's chest some more, taking comfort in the arms wrapped around him. He felt himself slowly starting to fade, feeling safe and secure in a way he hadn't felt in a _long_ time. And with Steve Rogers of all people. Childhood hero turned rival turned friend turned best friend turned enemy turned acquaintance turned… this. Whatever _this_ was.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate your friends."

"No you don't.

"You're right, I don't."

Silence.

"Steve?"

"Yes, Tony?"

"You mean a lot to me, too, y'know?"

"I think I'm starting to, now. Know, that is."

A beat.

"Steve?"

"Tony."

A breath. "I missed you, too. So much. And whatever… this is, whatever this turns out to be… I don't want to miss you like that ever again."

"I know, Tony. Me neither." Steve let out a little breath, then drew a longer one back in. "Try to get some rest, sweetheart—" Tony smiled softly into the fabric of Steve's t-shirt. "—and we'll figure the rest out later. One day at a time. One step at a time. We've got all the time in the world."

They might not. Not really. But it was a good thought. "Okay."

Steve tipped up just long enough to press a kiss against Tony's forehead, and then there was nothing but the crackling of the fire and the sounds of nature around them… and the steady beat of Steve's heart beneath his ear.

* * *

 _ **The approach to Kolding, Denmark** _  
_**September 7th, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, one week, and five days after Siberia** _  
_**Early afternoon**_

It was after they passed into the Middle East and Europe that it got worse. Or so Natasha told him the next morning as James and Steve—after he and Tony had shared a small kiss and murmured words that they'd talk later—took a turn up in the front seats of the Jeep, since Tony had been unconscious for the entire trip from Cairo to where they were last night, in Germany. Christ, _four days_. What had hit him must have been something that fried tech, shutting down Extremis until it could do a hard reboot. He was protected from EMPs, but there was no telling what sort of alien tech those assholes had gotten their hands on.

In any case, the effect of Thanos and his legions was much more noticeable where they were now in Europe. It was worse in Russia, but Tony hadn't been on the ground there. He was on the ground here, though. And seeing it in person… wow. Fuck.

In Africa they had, for the most part, been able to bypass or avoid completely the roving gangs which had popped up around the world, preying on refugees and locals alike, after Thanos' arrival. Or, at least, the _increase_ in said gangs' numbers. No, in Africa they'd barely seen anyone except right near the end on the approach to Cairo. Refugees streaming into the safety of Cairo's no-fly defense zone, but in a very orderly way. Everything had been… clean.

Clean in a way that this was _not_.

Here, in Europe, it was definitely different. It was as if the Africans and those Middle-Easterners near to Cairo had known where they were going, but the Europeans and more northern Middle Easterners didn't quite know where they could go that would offer them safety.

In truth there wasn't really… anywhere. There was nowhere _to_ go to. There were a couple of cities that were holding on in Europe, but their protective area of coverage, fighting force, and resources were too small, too few, too thin, to tend to all those who needed help. All those who had been displaced. It was worse than any diaspora the world had ever seen before.

Europe had been directly after New York. The very same day, hours apart. They'd done what they could, but the truth of the matter was that they hadn't quite realized that Thanos would have spies amongst the population, whether humans or aliens who had been hiding in plain sight… and they hadn't figured that the home base of the European Union in Brussels would be targeted so strongly.

But after it had happened, after Thanos' children and generals took control of Brussels and started to occupy the territory and branch out from there… it was obvious. Strike at the heart of the Union, and the people would have less leadership to look to.

It made sense in hindsight, but...

They'd known it would be bad on the way through, however nothing quite prepared Tony for what it was like when they passed out of the more forested backtrails that morning and they hit the paved thruways and highways of Denmark early the next afternoon on their ninth full day of travel. Steve pointed out in a sombre tone that this wasn't quite as bad—the land wasn't as ravaged, as burnt, as torn to the ground and abandoned—as what they'd seen further south, closer to Belgium, but it was still rough. They hadn't been able to get many images out of the region because of the tight control the enemy had on the airspace, and the fact they'd knocked any and all satellites out of the sky when they'd first arrived. Friday and the rest of Tony's systems hadn't been much help, and Shuri's tech hadn't been able to get much, either. And the fact of the matter was that smuggling photos of the destruction out of occupied territory wasn't really at the top of anyone's list unless it was of strategic value.

What they had seen still hadn't prepared Tony for what he was seeing this day.

They encountered a group of refugees a few miles down the road, traveling north, the same direction which they were heading in. When Tony saw the refugees, it was like a switch had flipped within him. He barked at Steve to stop the car and was jumping out the back door as soon as he could. It didn't matter that the Jeep was still traveling far too quickly for a normal human to be able to survive without injury—Tony was no longer just a regular ole human. He had Extremis. Even if he had impacted the ground, he would have been fixed soon enough, but he didn't hit. Instead, the suit formed first around his feet and hands, repulsors activating before even the rest of the suit had grown to encompass him, and he was off like a rocket towards the staring refugees.

From what he could see of them, very few of them had the energy to express their surprise at seeing him, them. They were tired and bedraggled, adults and children all carrying what they could on their thin and dirty frames. He noticed one in the uniform of the Belgian army, the patch almost torn free from its stitching in the cloth, and Tony knew that they had to be coming from Brussels. Brussels, which no longer existed. Brussels, which was no longer their home, and might never be again.

Tony landed a dozen steps away from the group, who were standing firm, perhaps too tired for fear, or perhaps they knew him, and he walked forward as he let the suit dissolve around him, faceplate first. He was speaking before he'd even taken two full steps. "Peace. I'm Tony Stark, of the Avengers. I'm Iron Man. Please, may I offer you assistance? I'll do what I can. There are three other Avengers in the Jeep following me about twenty seconds behind now. Captain America, Black Widow, and White Wolf. We're on our way north but if we can help, we will."

A man and woman about his age—well, his actual age, not what he looked like now, which was at least ten years younger—stepped forward, a teenage boy and girl at their backs, and the woman greeted him. "Mr. Stark, it is… well, not good to meet you, but we have heard many good things about you, and we thank God that you've arrived." He stuck his hand out as he spoke, and Tony took it without looking twice or hesitating at the grime covering the man's skin.

The woman added, as the Jeep rolled up behind him and the doors cracked open to let their occupants out, "Do you happen to have some antibiotics? One of our children has taken ill, but our supply of medications has been depleted."

Tony nodded, shaking her hand as well, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Natasha was already opening the Jeep's back hatch and pulling out the large medical supply kit. She passed it to James and then grabbed two of their duffle bags, one in each hand, and walked forward.

The Belgian man—Tony realized belatedly that he was also wearing a Belgian military uniform—continued for what seemed to be his wife. "We do not expect you to be able to carry us all with you. For one thing there is no room, and for another, if you are all here, it means that you are on an important mission, and we will not hinder you. Since you have offered, we simply ask for whatever you can spare of medicine, a bit of food, and some water as well. If you have it, of course."

"Our apologies, Mr. Stark," the woman cut in before he could answer. "I am Lieve Jannsens and my husband's name is Tom. I am pleased to meet you as well. Thank you for everything you have done." She smiled softly at him, and Tony saw that she had a great beauty and air of competence around her. She reminded him of Pepper, if he were to be truthful.

Pepper, who was safe, last he'd heard, in the New York command center, which had been moved to Strange's Sanctum. Last he'd heard, she'd been kicking ass and taking names with the war's logistics division on the North American continent. Last he'd heard had been a month ago.

Tony smiled softly, warmly, at the woman and man, and let the smile encompass the couple dozen people behind them. He didn't let an ounce of pity into his smile or his voice. It wasn't hard. These people were strong. They did not need his pity, so he did not give it.

"We have that and more, Mr. and Mrs. Jannsens. Bring the child here and we will tend her, and tend the rest of you as well."

* * *

That morning they had woken with soft smiles and comfortable silence between them as they heard the Jeep approaching in the dawn's early light, but now it was like they were entirely different men. Not only did they have a completely new dynamic to work with between them, but Tony had snapped out of their comfortable bubble and thrown himself into aiding the refugees, and it was unlike anything Steve had ever really seen from the man before. At least, not in person.

Intellectually, he knew that Tony did this sort of thing, but he'd never imagined… this, and Steve found himself reaching an entirely new level of respect for the man. Replacing the smiles and the feeling of care and even _love_ which he had been experiencing from Tony that morning, were gentle orders and questions, encouraging and understanding expressions, and words flowing around and from the man in a foreign language that took nearly five whole minutes for Steve to figure out what it was. He'd only ever heard it a few times, and it had been during the war. The accent had changed some, as had the way the words flowed together, so it took him a little too long to realize what it was.

He hadn't known that Tony spoke Flemish of all things.

It made some sense, hearing the language here, as they _were_ in Europe, and the people of Belgium had been forced to flee or be subjugated.

Steve covered up his slight embarrassment at not catching it sooner by grabbing another pack from the back of the Jeep and bringing it to Tony, who had asked him to fetch it, and who then passed one of the bottles of water on to Natasha. She was sitting on a fallen log just off the side of the road with a small girl perched on her lap. A man hovered behind the child, and Natasha directed her words to him as well as to the child—also in Flemish, which didn't surprise Steve as much as it had coming from Tony; Natasha had made her living as a spy in Europe and Russia. So of _course_.

As Steve watched, Natasha indicated for the man to pull the girl's hair away from the side of her neck—and Steve was horrified at the deep, mottled bruise that had been hiding behind the curtain of her dark blonde hair just beneath her jaw and ear, and the laceration that was oozing a vaguely yellow-green stream of pus right in the center of it. Natasha washed it out with some of their rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide both, and then told the man to hold a cloth with more of the latter against her skin while she prepared a syringe with some of their penicillin and pulled out one of their topical antibiotics as well.

Steve hadn't even really been aware that had been in the Jeep. It wasn't really something he had to deal with, him nor Bucky anymore, but it was wrong of him, lax of him, to have fallen out of habit of caring for those who surrounded him. Those who were on his team. Like he had for the Howling Commandos. Like he was forgetting to do now for Natasha and, well, Tony to a lesser extent currently, he supposed.

He still wasn't entirely sure on the limits of Extremis. It hadn't healed all of Tony's scars like the serum had for Steve. He still had a bit of a hitch in his left arm, though not as much as before, as far as he could remember. And, well, there was the whole fact that he'd been _knocked unconscious for four days_.

Steve swiftly moved his thoughts onwards; he was getting too distracted, and he needed to help these people however he could. More than just handing out water like he'd been doing while he was lost in thought just then.

"What happened? What happened to these people?" he asked Tony during a brief lull in his conversation with the middle-aged couple who seemed to speak for the rest of the group. He was fiercely intent on the answer, on fixing whatever… well, what he _could_ fix, at least. He desperately hoped that there was something he could fix.

But he was also desperately afraid that there wasn't much he _could_ do. Not like how he wanted.

It brought to mind times in the war where he'd been unable to help village after village they'd passed, occupied or near-abandoned, shelled and destroyed and hollowed out… the buildings _and_ the people.

He _hated_ the feeling. He hated feeling helpless.

"War happened," Tony said, anger in his voice. But not directed at Steve, he knew. It was the same sort of anger that was filling him as well. But he had to persevere. He had to continue to help, however he could. There was no sense in being angry at the world if you didn't do a damn thing about trying to fix what you were angry at or about.

And that's what Steve always tried to do. Always had, ever since he was young. Even those days Bucky wasn't around to pull him out of fights… he still persisted.

"What can I do to help, Tony?" he asked.

Tony turned to look at him, and his expression slid from anger and into tiredness… with a small smile thrown in just for Steve. Steve reached out and grabbed Tony's hand, lacing their fingers together and then covering Tony's hand on the other side with his other hand, despite the fact they were in front of strangers and he hadn't asked Tony what he wanted from whatever _this_ was, between them.

But Tony only smiled that little bit more, which pleased Steve to no end, and then lifted his face just a little so he could kiss Steve's shoulder through the material of his shirt and jacket. Despite the layers, he still felt it.

"Come," Tony said after a moment. "Help me demonstrate how to use the water purifiers and MREs while I explain how they work."

Steve could do that. "Sure, Tony." Tony picked up one of the packs at his feet with his free hand, refusing to let go of Steve's hand even though he'd loosened his grip and dropped his other hand in case Tony wanted to disentangle himself from Steve.

But he didn't, and that put a little smile on Steve's face. "Tony?" he queried after a few steps towards one of the clusters of refugees. When Tony glanced at him, Steve said, "Thank you. For… well, just for being you. For wanting to help. Thank you."

Tony's expression softened. "No need to thank me, Cap." And this time it was said like an endearment, and Steve found he… well, he _really_ liked that.

 _Typical Tony_ , Steve thought to himself. There was no use trying to explain it to him, how much Steve appreciated the man Tony was. But he could try to show it, as often as he could. _Of course there's a need to thank you. I owe you so many more thank yous than this._

* * *

 _Southern Denmark_  
September 7 th , 2017  
One year, two months, one week, and five days after Siberia  
Late afternoon

Steve slanted a glance at Tony when they were both in the back of the Jeep later that afternoon, watching the miles pass them by—or kilometers, whatever, they were in places outside of the United States now—and then looked away, before looking at him again. Tony held in a sigh, intimately aware of the signs that Steve had something he wanted to say which wasn't exactly pleasant. Whether for Steve or for Tony remained to be seen. And Tony was just too drained to get into an argument with the other man right now, no matter what it was about. He hoped it wasn't anything that needed more than cursory processing power.

Steve took a breath.

Here it was.

"Y'know…" Steve began quietly. "When you first called me…"

Tony couldn't help it—he let out a rather indelicate snort. "That stupid burner phone of yours," he said with far less heat than he would have a year ago, six months ago, even. "I mean, how insulting is it to send _Tony Stark_ an ancient brick like that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard this plenty," Steve rejoined fondly. "How terrible of me. Sending a piece of ancient technology or whatever just gave you more ammunition against me." He chuckled a little, obviously remembering the things Tony had said on the topic, some mean, some funny, some full of memories. "But… do you remember what you said to me? When you called?" He was still looking at Tony from the corner of his eyes, not quite facing him, not quite looking away.

"Yeah, I do." Tony said after a brief pause. His voice was neither angry nor happy. Just… tired and lost in memories, perhaps. "You were silent for so long I thought you'd been kidnapped, Steve," he finally continued with a little smile. "And then you laughed yourself nearly sick for just as long. I wasn't sure if I should be insulted or join you."

Steve finally turned towards him, and powered on the full force of his smile that had always made Tony weak in the knees, weak in the _heart_. "That's when I knew we'd be okay, Tony. Maybe not right away, but eventually. I knew it then. We were going to be okay. And we… are. Not fully. Maybe not ever the same way. But we're… better. I knew we would be."

Tony didn't reply, but he met Steve's eyes briefly and offered a tentative smile of his own, before turning to look out the window and ponder the past.

* * *

"You know you can have the shield back, right?" Tony said a while later, keeping his voice down, just after they'd dug into some not-half-bad ration packs for supper in the back of the Jeep. James and Natasha had gone for a little walk to stretch their legs, but he didn't exactly want them to listen to… this.

The… _thing_ that had remained unspoken between them for over a year.

There was charged silence between them for a few seconds, half a minute, a minute, two… Tony was about to open his mouth to apologize—what for? Bringing up a sensitive topic, he supposed. It had been… such a part of Steve, of Captain America for so long…

"That's not who I want to be anymore," Steve finally replied, quietly, and then he reached out to grab one of Tony's hands in his own. He did nothing more with it; he simply held it.

Tony pondered the weight of Steve's words as part of his mind pondered the weight of Steve's hand upon his own. He realized that he understood exactly what Steve meant. That it was like when Tony had shed the mantle of the Merchant of Death for that of Iron Man. He wanted to change.

"I'm not protecting America alone any—" Steve began after the silence grew a little too long.

"I understand, Steve," Tony gently interjected.

And he did.

Steve smiled tremulously at him—honest to God, he looked on the verge of tearing up, and Tony was just blown away by that. "Thank you, Tony."

"No need to thank me, please. I just understand. Thanking isn't part of understanding."

"If you say so."

"I do. Anyway, just know that it's yours if you want it. It can be repainted, too, or stripped down to its basic—"

"Thanks, Tony. I'll think about it."

"Hey, no thanks allowed, remember?"

"But this is—"

"Nope."

" _Tony_."

* * *

 **The deep rural outskirts of Kolding, Denmark**  
September 7 th , 2017  
One year, two months, one week, and five days after Siberia  
Early evening

It was late when they arrived at the house—the only house they'd slept in the whole trip north, and it was the last night they'd be on the road, as well. Barring any unforeseen issues, of course. It was September and they were further north than they'd been in Africa… _way_ further north… so the sun had set quite a while ago—and it was plenty colder, as well, Steve could tell. Finally Natasha came out to tell them that it was safe to enter, and then she went back inside to start switching on the generator and the batteries she had mentioned were charged via solar energy. Steve would have appreciated the whole thing a heck of a lot more if he wasn't dog-tired, honestly, but he was, and so he scooped up his small pack with a change of clothes, as well as Tony's, and then prodded the genius awake.

He really wished he could have carried Tony inside, but he didn't think that Tony would appreciate it. He wasn't as sure of his footing with Tony as he used to be a year and a half ago, a little less, but he was glad that they were starting to find it again. As friends and… _more_.

Tony had exhausted himself earlier, and had fallen asleep within moments of climbing back into the Jeep after they'd all done everything they could to help the refugees they'd met with. Steve was still upset about it, but he knew that the best thing he could do for them was… well, to kick Thanos' ass, at its most basic. Ending the war was the quickest way to end the outside threat, and then they could work, together, to clean up the inside threats and the near-anarchy in some regions. There was just… so much to do, and so few ways to travel everywhere they were needed, and Steve had to focus and compartmentalize—something he'd never _really_ had to do, not like this, at least—in order to be an effective soldier and leader.

Tony didn't say a thing when he woke and looked nearly ready to tumble back down onto the seat and right back into dreamland. But instead, he gave Steve a small smile—maybe a grimace? Steve wasn't quite sure, and it worried him—and then stepped out of the car. He didn't even ask for his pack back from Steve's hands, instead following Steve as he beckoned Tony to follow him into the house. That worried him just as much, honestly. But, after everything Tony had done to help the Belgians, and the emotional distress he'd obviously been in at the entire situation, it was really no wonder he was so out of it. So Steve let it be for the moment. He'd keep an eye on him.

Natasha indicated with her head the door to the right of the living room and then disappeared with Bucky into the door on the left side. There was no second story. No other apparent bedrooms. Steve would roll his eyes at the scenario if it weren't for the fact that he didn't care one whit. It wasn't like he was looking for anything from Tony. Not until Tony was ready. Right now all he cared about was getting Tony to bed. Caring for Tony, helping him relax and get some much-needed rest after the day he'd had. Well… after the last week he'd had. Two weeks. Two _months_. When would this fucking war _end_?

But, at least this way he got to keep an eye on Tony without… well, without _too_ much hovering. He couldn't promise he wouldn't do _any_ , but this way it was more surreptitious.

Steve dropped their packs on the bed, turned on the small lamp on the bedside table, and then skirted around Tony who had just sort of… stopped and acted like a pylon of all the damn things in the world… and checked the bathroom out.

A shower. Towels. A surprising amount of toiletries and a very well-stocked first—and then some—aid kit.

Steve put some shampoo and soap bottles on the shelf in the shower, set a towel within easy reach on the counter, turned the shower on and let it run for a few until the water reached a comfortable temperature, and then walked back out, grabbed Tony's pack—which he'd packed for Tony himself earlier that afternoon while Tony had been busy speaking with the Jannsens still, truth be told—and set some boxers and a t-shirt on the counter on the other side of the sink so they wouldn't get wet from the water's spray. He then walked right back out, placed his hands on Tony's shoulders—still standing like a pylon and blinking slowly, the ridiculous man—and turned him towards the bathroom door.

"Shower. Wash. Change clothes. Decompress, Tony, and then come back out here, okay?"

"I'm not a _child_ , Steven," Tony said, but the effect of the snootiness was lost somewhere amongst the tiredness of his voice.

Steve gave him a little smile, completely unfazed by Tony's words, and made a little shooing motion with the tips of his fingers. "Off with you."

Tony perked up a little, rolled his eyes, and then wandered into the bathroom. Steve only moved after he heard the little snick of the door latching, and then he turned to his pack, busying himself with getting out a more comfortable set of clothes, and giving himself a little wipe-down with some baby wipes he kept in his pack for just such an occasion as when he didn't need a full shower. He, Nat, and Bucky had all taken turns at the cold creek when they'd stopped to help the refugees earlier, but Tony hadn't stopped for even a moment, throwing himself head first into the issue at hand at the time, and not resurfacing even when Steve had tried to tug him away for a short break.

It was frustrating, but it was also… heartwarming, to see him so passionate about helping others.

After he changed into sweatpants and a long-sleeve quilted sleeper shirt—the cold still reached him at times in ways he really wished it didn't, and it was going to be a crisp night—he turned towards the bed and eyed it. It was a queen size and, after he turned down the covers, he could see that it was dressed in flannel sheets and a down comforter set. There were a few extra blankets and quilts of varying degrees of warmth stacked on one of the shelves in the corner, but Steve didn't feel like they would be needed. It was cool in the room, but not overly so, and the house had seemed to be well-maintained.

Steve hadn't asked, but from the way Nat had spoken about the house on the approach, he was pretty sure that it was either one of hers or Clint's old safehouses, maintained and cared for by trusted aides throughout the year. He wasn't sure anyone had been here in quite some time besides the caretakers, but that suited him just fine.

He trusted Nat.

The sound of the shower cut off, snapping Steve out of his thoughts and into the reality that he was one more step away from sharing a bed with another person. With Tony. He didn't mind, not at all, but he wasn't sure how Tony would react to it once he was awake enough to realize that they'd stepped into a cliché movie and there was only the one bed. He didn't think he'd mind, but sometimes Tony could surprise him on things he was so sure about— _really_ surprise him, and not always in the greatest ways.

To his relief, Tony wandered out of the bathroom in a puff of steam, and made straight for the bed, falling face first onto the sheets with a huffed out breath.

Steve chuckled, but found himself reddening a touch at the realization that Tony had foregone the t-shirt and simply dressed himself in the slim-cut boxers. Not that he didn't appreciate the sight—he very much did—he just wanted to keep control of himself and to _not_ accost Tony after such a hard day.

He wasn't even sure if it would be welcome. Yes, they'd shared words, kisses, a little more… but it was all so _new_ , and there was so much left unsaid between them— _very_ important things. He was pretty sure they were past their childish phase of not talking through their problems, of not _listening_ to each other… that they had learned their lessons, but that didn't automatically make it okay to just _sleep together_.

Uh, in the figurative sense.

Because they were _definitely_ going to be sleeping with each other in the literal sense.

"I can hear you thinking from over here. Stop it," Tony grumbled, propping himself up on his elbows, still parallel with the bed but with his head turned in Steve's direction.

Steve gave him an embarrassed smile, and moved closer, sitting on the end of the bed but angled towards Tony. He was silent for a moment, as was Tony, but he could see the tired lines etched into a face that was still shockingly young compared to how Tony used to look. It wasn't so different, and it wasn't _bad_ … it was just… odd.

Tony shoved a foot against Steve's hands and wiggled his toes. "Stop moping and come to bed," Tony murmured, voice pitched low.

Steve's breath hitched, and heat sparked low in his belly at the tone of voice.

Damn it, it was going to be a _long_ night.

"I would if you weren't sprawled right in the middle. You gotta move over," Steve teased, even while trying to get a good grasp on breathing properly again.

" _Make me_."

Steve could practically _hear_ the smirk in Tony's voice. It was nice, to hear him sounding closer to normal after the day he—after the day they'd _all_ had. He swiped his thumb across the sole of one of Tony's feet, and within an instant Tony was still, his breathing stalled in his chest. Steve tilted his head, staring down at the darker skin of Tony's feet in his hands, and then pressed hard with a thumb into the arch of Tony's foot, holding it firmly with his other.

Tony _melted_. There was no other word for it. He melted, and he _moaned_ , and Steve knew he was plunging right off the cliff into temptation, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't help it, because knowing that _he_ had made Tony moan like that, because he felt good, because he liked the touch of Steve's hands on his skin, even if it was just a foot massage… that was heady. He'd wanted to help Tony get some rest, had wanted to take care of him—even if he would never tell Tony that, at least not yet—and this was actually quite the perfect opportunity.

A massage.

"You're playing dirty, Steve," Tony mumbled into his arms, and Steve couldn't help but to look to the side and smile softly at the look of bliss on Tony's face as he continued to dig into Tony's right foot.

"Maybe," he admitted quietly, punctuating the word by a sweep of his thumb over the sole of Tony's foot. "But it's working."

"I think you're just making me sink more into the bed at this point," Tony rebutted.

"Well, my goal might have changed," Steve admitted with a chuckle. "Relax, Tony. You've had a long day. Let me do this for you."

A pause. "And what, exactly, is 'this'?" Tony asked quietly, seriously. There was a slight tension in the line of his calves, and Steve slowly turned where he was perched on the bed, running a hand up each bare calf and digging his thumbs into the corded muscle.

"A massage," Steve said simply, running his hands back down Tony's calves with firm pressure. "I haven't really given one before, though, so let me know if I hurt you or you need something, okay?"

Tony let out a little grunt as Steve found a knot towards the side of his left shin. "Yeah, okay."

"Now _shh_ , relax," Steve ordered, not quite able to stop a note of authority entering his tone.

" _Yessir_ ," Tony replied cheekily, but it was still mostly a murmur into the backs of his arms, folded beneath his forehead.

Steve stood up then, though he kept himself bent over at the waist to allow for his palms to stay connected to Tony's legs. He set himself to the task—more pleasure than task, truly—of massaging Tony with a single-minded focus, letting his hands and mind appreciate the sleek muscles and light dusting of dark hair on Tony's legs as he dug his fingers in, then smoothed his palms down, over and over again.

Steve moved back down to Tony's feet after a few more minutes on his calves, this time giving the forgotten left one more attention before giving the right one another pass of his hands.

The sounds Tony was making were absolutely _sinful_ , moans and groans and hitching breath, and Steve had to fight to keep his breathing even—he still wasn't so sure he succeeded, and his body was for _certain_ showing interest in… other areas.

But this wasn't about him—this was about Tony, and making _him_ feel good.

His brain handily supplied the fact that he could make him feel good in many different ways, and Steve was absolutely sure that he was turning bright red at that, suddenly glad he couldn't be observed from where he was standing.

But he kept going. He wanted to do this for Tony.

Steve straddled Tony's ankles, hesitating just a little before placing his hands at the base of Tony's hamstrings. They were a little taut, and Tony's breathing was coming a little faster as well. But he dug his fingers in, working the tightness right out of the backs and sides of Tony's legs, and revelling in the feeling of Tony's skin, warm beneath his hands, and the way that he could get him to react to the simplest of touches.

He was pretty sure this was no longer a massage, and had never been anything so simple even from the very start.

Massages, simple, hah. With loved ones, a massage was never simple, and Steve was finally realizing that he'd pretty much tricked himself right into this situation, trying to pretend that this was just for Tony. _All_ for Tony.

It wasn't.

But he could damn well try to get things under control… _after_ he finished with Tony's back and arms.

Steve moved up Tony's legs so that he could reach Tony's back finally, but as soon as Steve pressed into Tony's lower back, the other man bucked up, brushing his barely-covered ass against Steve's erection. Until that moment, he'd been able to shove his awareness of it to the side, but with that one press of cloth on cloth, he felt as if he were being seared with heat. Sensation rushed in and he felt himself getting harder, a shudder rippling through him.

"Steve—" Tony choked out hoarsely, and then, suddenly, Tony had flipped himself over underneath Steve, still trapped between his legs but looking like he _absolutely wanted to be there_. He looked divine, like temptation incarnate, body quivering and eyes wide, lips parted _just so_ …

And then he was reaching up, wrapping one hand around the back of Steve's head, and the other pulling on his shoulder, reeling him in so that their mouths could meet.

 _Meet_. No, that wasn't the word for this. This was _coming home_.

This was about them finding comfort and peace and _home_ in each other, about showing each other how much they cared, about _trusting_ each other—Tony sure as hell wouldn't let him on top of him again if he _didn't_ , and Steve practically sobbed into the kiss at the thought. He kept nipping at Tony's lips, alternating that with the hot press of his open mouth, soothing the ache on Tony's lip with his tongue. But Tony pulled them back just a little, not too far, hands framing Steve's jaw as he pressed their foreheads together, breathing in each other's panting breaths.

" _Shh_ , Steve, it's okay, _shh_ …" Tony murmured, thumbs sweeping through Steve's beard. Steve shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut, and was thankful that his elbows had locked themselves—he was sure he'd have fallen on top of Tony, otherwise, the way his muscles were quivering.

"What's wrong, darling?" Tony whispered, hungering voice laced with concern.

But Steve couldn't put into words what he was feeling. He ran through a dozen different ways he might be able to say even a portion of what he was feeling, but none of them would come out, none of them would fill the silence surrounding them. Steve opened his eyes and met Tony's with them, and tried, instead, to _show_ Tony, somehow, how much his trust meant to him.

How much he _loved Tony_.

But couldn't say it. Not yet.

Tony's eyes softened even further, and he pressed a kiss to Steve's lips. "I understand," Tony said softly. Another quick press of lips. "It's okay." Another. "You can tell me whenever you feel like it." Again. " _If_ you feel like it."

Before Tony could press another quick kiss to Steve's parted lips, Steve drove him down into the bed with the force of his own kiss, pouring as much as he could of what he _couldn't_ say into it.

Of what he'd _meant_ to say before, of what he'd promised Bucky he'd say, but had only ever been able to whisper to Tony's unconscious form.

But he had at least told Tony he meant a lot to him. The _world_.

They could figure the rest out later.

They could figure it out _together_. Steve would damn well make sure that they had the chance to do so, as well.

He realized then that he'd slowed in his frantic kissing of Tony, in the hot press of their bodies against each other. He realized then that he wasn't exactly sure of where to go next. He had Tony, they had a future, and they _wanted_ a future with each other… but what did Tony want _now_? What could a man like Tony want from a man like Steve? What could Steve possibly have to offer Tony that was special, beyond his love, his devotion, his _all_?

Would that be enough?

But before he could get too lost in his own mind, he suddenly found himself on his back, staring up at a smiling Tony—a real, honest to God, _smile_ , and it was _beautiful_ —who was bending down to press a chaste kiss to Steve's lips. The contrast of open, honest, _care_ to the heat and passion of moments before was enough to make Steve gasp into the kiss, but Tony pulled back and away before he could demand more from the man. Steve managed to reach his hands up, though, one tangling in the thick, unruly hair at the back of Tony's head, and the other brushing over the short hairs and smooth edges of Tony's beard and jawline. He hadn't noticed, but Tony must have shaved while he'd been in the shower.

"Don't think so much, Cap…" Tony murmured as he pressed a kiss below Steve's ear. Steve shivered _hard_ , and suddenly he was hot, so _hot_ , and he started to reach down to pull his long shirt from off of him. But Tony got their first, sliding his palms up underneath the hem, calluses and smooth skin alike lighting him even more on fire as Tony took every advantage while helping remove Steve's shirt.

And then it was skin on skin, and Steve clutched Tony to his chest, arching his back so that he could feel the most amount of contact possible.

"It's Steve—" he finally gasped out, catching Tony's gaze as his sensitive skin revelled in the press of their flesh.

Tony tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his features. "I know," he said impishly.

Steve rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the smile that took over his own lips. "Yeah sure," he replied—though his words turned into a groan as Tony started to move down his body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to as much of his skin as he could while still maintaining a straight line for—

Yep.

"Tony—" he choked out, body tensing as Tony's shoulder rather _deliberately_ skimmed over his throbbing cock. He knew it was deliberate; there wasn't even one part of Tony's body that wasn't aware of what it was doing while having sex, and Steve had never needed sex with Tony to prove that theory.

Tony looked up at him through his lashes from where he was hovering just over Steve's hips, and Steve couldn't help but to buck up even just the slightest amount at the sight when he bent his neck to catch Tony's eyes. But Tony looked at him seriously, concern in his eyes when he asked, "Are you okay with this, Steve? Is this too fast?"

Steve tried to gain control of his breathing, tried to organize his thoughts into some semblance of order so that he could do right by Tony and answer him honestly. After a moment, through the still-rushing thoughts in his mind, he panted out, "I don't know. I don't know, Tony."

Tony lifted himself up just a little and rested his chin lightly on Steve's lower abdomen, eyes appreciative before finding Steve's again, and even that small amount of space between them made Steve _want_ so fiercely to close the gap. "That's okay. We don't have to do anything more than what you're comfortable with." He flushed just a little, and that act of… bashfulness? embarrassment? cleared Steve's head nearly all the way. He focused intently on Tony's face, riveted by the pink staining his tanned skin, and waited for what he would next say. "Have you done this before?" Tony murmured.

Steve smirked. Ah, so that was it. "Yeah," he answered. "Is that a problem?"

"Hmmm, no." Tony smirked back, pulling himself up so that he was hovering over Steve, hips snug against Steve's and leaving them both gasping at the hard heat between them, breaths mingling between their untouched lips. "As long as you don't have a problem with my past," he added.

Tony affected casualness, but Steve could sense nervousness below the surface. He brought both hands back up from where they'd fallen to his shoulders, to frame his jaw, thumbs rubbing high over his cheekbones, and pressed a kiss to Tony's nose. "No. I just don't want to be another conquest."

Tony reared back, just enough that Steve worried he'd offended Tony, but the look of shock was soon overtaken by determination and… a level of openness and vulnerability that Steve had rarely seen on the man. "I could never think of you that way." He lifted a hand up, leaning his weight all on one arm, and it wasn't until Tony's palm was almost pressed against his sternum that he noticed his fingers, his hand, everything was shaking. Tony was quivering with emotion, all of it threatening to spill over, and Steve dropped one of his hands from Tony's face to cover his hand where it was pressed against his chest, pressing it tighter against him. "Never," Tony repeated vehemently.

And in that moment, the last of Steve's doubts fell away. He knew there would be troubles between them in the future—but wasn't that a mark of a healthy, growing relationship?—but Tony looked at him as if he was the only thing he'd ever wanted. And who knew? Maybe it was true. Looking back at their years of friendship and close contact, all of the time they'd spent together, and how Steve had wanted and pined and craved from afar… how much he had _loved_ over those years…. Maybe it could be the same for Tony.

"Okay, sweetheart, okay," Steve replied softly, lifting Tony's hand from underneath his own and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to each and every one of them.

"Yeah?" Tony let out on a short gasp, eyelids fluttering shut as Steve pressed a lingering kiss to the center of his palm. He sounded as if he could scarcely believe the words he was hearing.

Steve himself could scarcely believe any of this was _happening_.

But he wanted it— _oh,_ how he wanted…

"Yeah," Steve promised. "This is okay. I want this. I want _you_. I've wanted you for so… so _long_." And then words failed him. He couldn't explain it with his words anymore. He would have to show Tony everything he meant, even though he'd never be able to in just one night. He'd just have to keep showing him, a little bit more, night after day after night again…

"It's… it's okay—" was all Tony could get out before cutting off on a gasp as Steve slowly pushed Tony over and onto his back, hands running all over his skin, from top down, taking his slim boxers with them when they finally reached the waistband. Tony arched his back at the feel of the cooler air running over his wet tip, and then he nearly bowed in two when Steve swallowed him down as far as he could go.

It had been a while, but Steve was damn-well motivated, and he could do a hell of a lot of things when he was motivated.

Pleasing Tony just happened to be one of the best motivators he'd ever had the pleasure of pursuing.

From there… well, from there things unraveled quicker than he would have wanted for a first time, but the fact that he was getting this opportunity, after everything between them… expectations be _damned_.

He would take what he could get, and he would make it damn good in the process.

Tony was all slick, hot skin, moans, and half-bitten curses, probably trying to keep his voice down, the noises in. Steve let it go for the time being, but he knew that there would come a night, come a day, come _whenever_ , when he would pull those sounds from Tony's sweet, _sweet_ mouth.

Steve had a feeling it would be all too addicting.

The feel of Tony, heavy in his mouth, hot and searing against his tongue, hips bucking up beneath Steve's hands where they spanned his hips, was already addictive. Steve had never felt a rush like this. Nothing compared. There were other thrilling things he'd done, but this… this was in an entirely different category; it would be like comparing apples to… well, like comparing apples to blowjobs, frankly.

And then Tony's hands were in his hair, and he was tapping his fingers frantically against the back of his skull, drawing Steve out of the focused state he'd be in, revelling in the sensations around and against and within him. Just in time, it would seem, as Tony looked like he was ready to come if he experienced one more _long_ lick from Steve's tongue.

He kind of wanted to do just that, to see Tony come all over himself just from Steve's mouth.

But he wanted more, so he pulled back just enough, and gave Tony a little breather—Steve _loved_ the sounds of his gasps—as he stretched to reach for the pocket of his bag… just a little further…

There.

And within moments he had shoved his sweatpants down and off with one hand, grinding himself into the bed, his mouth was back on Tony, he was slowly sliding one of Tony's legs over his shoulder, and his slick-covered finger was circling over his entrance, Tony was gasping, whining, struggling exquisitely in an attempt to push himself down, down, _down_ onto Steve's finger…

Steve groaned around the head of Tony's cock, spit slicking his lips, at the tightness surrounding his finger.

"Been… been a—" Tony cut off on a gasp, which turned into an absolutely _filthy_ moan for all its quietness, and Steve was struck at how tender even passionate sex could be. It had never been like this before, but this was… this was near reverence, for all that Steve was working Tony— _Tony_ —open on his fingers, scissoring into him with two fingers on his tenth or eleventh—or _who knew how many_ —pass, all while he had the man enveloped nearly from root to tip.

It was nearly enough to get him off, just like this. Just seeing Tony like this underneath his hand, around his fingers, in his _mouth_ … laid out before Steve. All for him, but not to consume, not as he'd originally thought—to _worship_.

Worship was exactly what he did. He worshiped Tony until he was good and ready for him, begging with half-voiced words, thoughts made clear through the motion of his body, aborted gestures, startled and pleading noises drawn from him at every turn…

He worshiped Tony with a kiss, drawing himself up Tony's body slowly, reverently, and then connecting their mouths together gently. A chaste, loving press of his lips turning into an open-mouthed display, turning back into softness as Steve slowly, gently pushed himself inside that first inch.

He paused, holding his breath as Tony took in a large breath of his own, and then exhaled with Tony as he let it out, locking gazes with Steve. Then Steve was pushing in, centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, and their breaths were synced and it was… it was…

It was _Tony_.

When he finally bottomed out, hips coming flush with Tony's ass where it practically rested in his lap, legs wrapped tight around his waist, he let out a gasp of his own, breathing deeply for the first time in what felt like _forever_. He took a moment, took the time to feel Tony around him, to run his hands over Tony's body and simply _glory_ in what he had beneath his hands, wrapped around him…

"Steve…" Tony whispered, and the look in his eyes was dark and deep and filled with so _many_ emotions, all good, but some still practically incomprehensible—

Tony clenched around him, and that was it. That was it for him. Steve curled over Tony, placing one hand on the bed by his ear, the other gripping his hip to hold him steady as he pulled nearly out… and then _thrust_ home. Over and over again, feeling the heat surrounding him, watching the heat pool even further in Tony's eyes and then spill over into tears that just managed to spur him on even as he nosed at them, brushing them away, kissing them away, making sure Tony was okay, that they were just overwhelmed but _happy_ tears, and kissing him, whispering to him how much he meant to him, how much he _cared_ , how beautiful he was, how gorgeous he was spread beneath him like he was…

And then Tony was clenching around him, gasping, clawing at his back and leaving scratches in his skin that felt _unreal_ as he came untouched between the press of their stomachs, and it shocked Steve—shocked him that he had _come_ just like that, just from Steve _inside him_ and it was a heady feeling, unbelievable, and just so, _so beautiful_ … so much so that Steve just let go, falling over the edge and into blissful white.

Extreme lassitude filled his limbs and silence—for the first time in _too long_ —prevailed in his mind. The feel of Tony was calming, even covered in sweat as they both were in the crisp air of the bedroom. The feel of Tony against him in any situation, Steve thought, would be calming.

"Thank you," Steve whispered against Tony's lips as he finally moved enough to press their lips together. He held himself there, revelling in the feel of their lips opening against each other, and then withdrew as gently as he could.

Tony groaned as he collapsed onto the bed, Steve smiling at him as he got up off of the bed and walked into the washroom to wet a few of the hand towels lying on the shelves in order to bring them out and clean him and Tony up.

He ran the water warm, knowing it would be worth the trouble, and then made sure to do just that, throwing the cloths on the floor as soon as he was done in favor of pulling Tony into a sprawl over his chest, arms wrapped around the man who meant so _much_ to him.

A man whom he'd fight the world for.

" _Finally!_ " They heard a voice yell at them through the walls, across the house—the _other_ man whom Steve had already fought the world for. "I thought you'd never— _ow, what the hell, Nat?_ "

Steve and Tony looked at each other and started to laugh, their bodies shaking together, releasing the last of the tension in the air and slowly leading into mingled breaths, entwined limbs, and— _finally_ —the best sleep Steve had had in years coming to slowly swallow him up with the sound of Tony's heartbeat strong and steady in his ears.

* * *

 _ **The approach to Alesund, Norway** _  
_**September 9th, 2017** _  
_**One year, two months, and two weeks after Siberia** _  
_**The next morning**_

"You know…" Tony said slowly, early the morning after in the back of the Jeep with James. "For the longest time I thought you and Steve were to—"

James erupted into peals of laughter, practically howling out his mirth, and slowly a rueful grin spread across Tony's features. Natasha kept her eyes forward as she filed her nails of all things, although a smirk played on her lips, but he caught Steve looking at him from the driver's seat, meeting his eyes in the mirror, and the little shit was laughing at him. Not with James, but _at_ Tony. He just knew it.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole."

But he couldn't help but to settle back in his seat, letting that 0.01% part of his brain, which had still doubted the truth he'd been told, the truth he had _felt_ last night with Steve… he finally felt that part of him let go of his last vestiges of doubt.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Hopefully he wouldn't end up stabbed by Nat. "So when did you and…"

"Nat and I?" James filled in before Tony could complete his sentence. "Just after Thanos arrived," he answered after a pause. "You were so busy with getting Earth ready with T'Challa and the U.N., and then almost all communications went down, so even in the down time between battles I was never able to call you in order to talk, let alone to tell you about the change in my love life."

Tony noticed that James hesitated just a _little_ on the word 'love' and made sure to keep his smile brief and hidden before he informed James, "I'm not upset about that. The not telling me, because you don't owe me shit."

"I know you weren't, just sayin'. And I—"

Tony cut in before James could complete the sentence that would lead into their longest standing argument. "I missed catching up with you, is all," he said softly.

James flashed a grin at Tony, all perfect white teeth and crinkles at the eyes. "Me too, little punk."

"Little punk?" Tony gasped, mock-affronted.

James' smile didn't dim one watt. "Well Stevie's the regular punk and you're shorter than him so…"

"Hey—!" Steve started to protest before grunting as he was elbowed in the ribs by Nat.

Tony snorted at Steve but otherwise ignored him, shaking his head fondly. "Yeah, 'kay, fine, whatever. So... how?" he prodded.

James' expression changed, as if he were reaching back into his memories, and Tony was so _very_ glad that he and Shuri had been able to help James recover so many of the good ones… and that James was able to live a life which gave him the opportunity to gain more good ones. "She kept leaving me little presents around the complex after I got out of cryo, around our sets of rooms and even _in_ my room—I mean, how the hell did she do that? I still don't know… That was going on for a couple of months, and then one day she and I are sparring and we just… y'know."

Tony grinned at James, and the other brunet's smile returned to its previous brilliance.

* * *

As they approached the northern part of Norway where the Compound was located, Tony was able to get a little bit of air and use the suit's systems to see what was ahead of them—there was no use driving into a trap, if the compound had been overrun in the fighting of the last month and a half since he had last visited them. Long-range communications were spotty, and he hadn't heard from them since, but it looked like the region they were in was pretty Thanos-free.

But there was… something.

"Nat, stop the car," he said, retracting the faceplate of the suit as he sped up to come alongside the moving vehicle. As soon as the words were past his lips, she put her foot on the brake, coming to a smooth but not excessively fast halt—she could tell he wasn't panicked, even though the air moving by distorted his voice a little, and so she knew she didn't have to slam on the brakes.

When the truck came to a full stop, Tony landed and strode forward immediately, armor retreating beneath his clothes and skin. He smirked at the look of continued disgruntlement James gave him at the sight, but immediately afterwards a grin bloomed across his features, teeth flashing brightly in the sun from amidst the dark hair of his nearly-full beard as he looked at Nat first, then caught his gaze on Steve's curious one. "Guess what!" Tony exclaimed, voice loud and filled with laughter.

Steve couldn't help but to quirk his lips up a little in a smile in response to Tony's usual antics, and he could see Natasha rolling her eyes at him via his peripheral vision. James just grunted, but Tony could tell he was trying to smother a sound that was half-laugh, half-exasperation.

"What is it, Tony?" Steve finally asked, affecting a little sigh though with the glint of a smile in his eyes.

"There are _Aesir_ around the compound!" Tony let out gleefully, and watched as Steve's features morphed slowly into a full-on smile of its own, daring, just like Tony, to _hope_.

Nat smiled as well, caught up in what that meant… what the only truly likely possibility of that fact could mean.

"Thor?" James queried. He'd never met the man, but he had heard plenty of tales in the meantime, and had expressed his desire to meet—and arm wrestle with—the man.

"Fuck, I hope so!" Tony said, though his smile dimmed just a little as a thought crossed his mind: _What if the Aesir had come… but Thor was dead? Or injured in whatever conflict Sif could only guess had occurred on Asgard?_

Steve had obviously thought the same thing, for his very next words were, "It might not be Thor… we have to be prepared for that. Whether friend or foe, these Aesir might not be accompanied by Thor. For whatever… reason."

Tony caught and held Steve's eyes, imparting strength to the other man, but was thrilled beyond belief when Steve opened his hand and held it out as a clear offer for Tony to take it.

How had his life changed so drastically in barely under two weeks? His world?

He reached out and grabbed Steve's hand, the spark of skin against skin still electrifying to him, something he hoped he would never become used to. "Well…" Tony began after swallowing audibly, "Let's go meet them. I'm betting they're like ninety-eight percent friend, so—"

"Does that mean two percent of their minds hates us?"

"Shut it, Barnes."

But Tony smiled. It was hard not to.

Within minutes of climbing back into the truck with the other three, they could see with their own eyes the rudimentary sentry towers which had been constructed, miles out from where the closer ones were that had been built with the complex.

Something had obviously happened.

Within another ten minutes, they came to a full halt on the dirt road, and waited.

Not even two minutes after that, a portal in the air shimmered into existence on the road in front of them, and out stepped Sif… alongside a dark-skinned man and… " _Awesome_ ," Tony whooped, flinging the doors open and running out, running towards the newcomers, before anyone could stop him.

He didn't need to be stopped. He trusted Sif, and he sure as hell trusted Thor and Bruce, who were right there with her.

"Thor! Bruce! Holy _shit_ , is that really you? Do my eyes deceive me?" Tony called out. Normally he was a hell of a lot more composed than this, but he couldn't help himself as he ran straight at them and practically tackled Bruce into Thor—him being the only reason they didn't all topple over. It had been too long, and they were old friends, old allies, and _hell_ , beside all that, they needed help overthrowing the space jerk who'd shown up two months ago. A war two months too long, and perhaps having them… and what looked to be like a bunch of Aesir… would help turn the tide. He was practical enough to see that aspect of it all.

"It is us, my friend!" Thor laughed as he helped Bruce untangle himself from Tony's grip, making sure they were both steady on their feet. Tony just smiled back at him, open and happy. He and Thor had had a few rough moments, but they were friends, and they had forged tight bonds during the months of downtime they'd had between saving the world.

"Hey Tony," Bruce said more softly, and then turned towards the rest of them, eyeing them appraisingly.

"Bruce," Steve greeted the other man warmly, reaching out and gripping his hand in a firm shake he held for a little longer than usual. Tony smiled softly; he knew Steve had missed Bruce more than he'd let show. "It's been a long time. I'm sure you have a big story to tell us, don't you?"

Tony didn't miss the little grimace that Bruce let slip as he stepped back, making room for Thor to pull Steve into a giant bear hug. He'd definitely have to catch the other scientist alone and get some of the more… rough particulars out of him; ones he could tell at a glance the man wouldn't want to necessarily share with just anyone.

There was certainly a story there.

"The eye patch looks good on you, big man," Tony said, keeping his voice as light as he could. He was sure that _that_ story held a lot of pain as well. "But never mind that. Who are these beautiful people you've brought with you?"

Tony just caught the eye roll Sif gave him as he passed by Thor and towards her. But she smiled a little as he approached, and graciously allowed him to give her a kiss on each cheek. "Tony, it's good to see you again. May I introduce my brother Heimdall, and the Lady Brunnhilde, Leader of the Valkyries?"

"Oh you most certainly can!" Tony said, delightedly clapping his hands together. "Lord Heimdall! I've heard many things about you. Mostly good, I can promise you. Mostly." He grinned. "It's so good to finally meet you."

* * *

 ** _Just north of Alesund, Norway_ **  
**_September 10th, 2017_ **  
**_One year, two months, two weeks, and one day after Siberia_ **  
**_Just after noon_**

Of course, attacks always came at the most inconvenient times, even when you were expecting them.

Also, _of course_ , attacks seemed to come at the most _convenient_ of times, in that they had literally just arrived the previous evening.

The bad guys had sure run out of luck with that—or perhaps the heroes, but Tony was crossing his fingers on that one. He was damn sure they'd pull through—they had to, they were _Avengers_ , it was practically their job description to pull through impossible, end of the world situations.

Sif had finally been able to get away from running things and they were sitting down to a pleasant, albeit simple, lunch between the four of them—him, Steve, Sif, and her brother Heimdall—when the all-call and alarm had sounded throughout the compound. The blaring alarm Tony had installed in the compound nearly three quarters of a year ago mixed with the sounds of Aesir horns, loud enough to penetrate the walls as more and more horns took up the call.

They were under attack.

By whom, they wouldn't know until they could either look outside or get to the command center.

Tony and Steve didn't even freeze—they were so trained for the Avengers call to assemble, and the… whatever they wanted to call the alarms they sprang to action for in the last year and a bit when they were no longer quite the same Avengers as they were before. They didn't freeze; instead they sprang up from the table, Steve running to his bags stacked against the wall—they hadn't even had time to unpack yet—and shucking his clothes without modesty so that he could get dressed, and Tony calling up part of his faceplate so that he could patch into the local, secured network and see what was going on.

"Command— Oh, hey Bruce. Do you know what's going on out there? Who's attacking?" Tony asked briskly.

"Tony," Bruce began just a little hesitantly. "You're not gonna like it."

"Just spit it out so we can get this show on the road, Science Bro," Tony demanded, eyes tracking over Steve's body as he finished his final touches in getting ready, and then over to Sif and Heimdall who were waiting expectantly for Tony to relay where they would be needed. It was easier for them to wait for Tony to communicate with Command than for them to race there themselves.

"It's the Chitauri and—"

But all else was whited out as a rushing sound took over Tony's ears. He could feel the blood draining out of his face, could feel himself getting light-headed, but he couldn't pull himself out of this tailspin alone. Not even with Extremis. There was only so much it could do. And what it couldn't do was protect him from the images starting to flood into his mind's eye. It couldn't protect him from memories.

The devastation. The aliens themselves. Their fucking _sleighs_ of all the fucking things. The buildings coming down around them and then—

The nuke.

The government firing upon them, giving them up as a lost cause. The millions at the epicenter who would die and the millions more who would suffer the consequences, be it from fallout or from the destruction of their lives and loved ones. Even just dealing with the simple fact that their own _government_ had fired upon them rather than try another solution first. Trying one single thing and then saying, 'Oh, well, we tried. These six people who we threw together couldn't do a damn thing, so let's just give up and kill our people!'

And then flying that nuke into the… the _void_. The void which was both empty and filled with the most unimaginable of horrors: _more Chitauri_. Thousands, maybe millions more than what they'd already faced. How could they defeat that? How _did_ they?

By sheer dumb fucking luck and ridiculous timing.

And then he'd fallen… he'd fallen through but he'd been so afraid of never making it back, of being stuck on the other side, floating, staring into the nothingness and _horror_ all around him. Some nights he dreamed he never made it back. Less so now than before, but—

Suddenly there were two warm hands encased in fingerless leather gloves he knew so well—so _intimately_ —cradling his cheeks, and the warmth drew him out of the cold, vast nothingness of space, of his memories, and then, as if a balloon had been popped, he was back. He was aware again, and there was a voice in his ear, and a voice coming from in front of him, and he opened his eyes and met the two blue ones of the man he _loved_ —the man he would sacrifice so much for, and he knew would in turn do the same for him.

"Tony, sweetheart? There you are. There, it's okay, it's alright, doll, it's alright, I'm here. Shh, I've got you." Steve's voice was concerned and his expression earnest, worried… _loving_ , and Tony didn't want to worry him anymore. He was stronger than this. He had to be strong for Steve, for everyone else who was counting on them. There was a battle to be fought, and they needed to be _there_ … not helping some old man through a fucking panic attack.

But Tony let himself be pulled up against Steve's chest, arms wrapping around him. He let himself melt into the embrace for a little, less than half a minute was all he'd give himself, but for the moment he would let the scent and warm feel of Steve surround him. Steve could make it all better—well, maybe not _all_ , but he could certainly help shore up Tony's strength and give him something to _fight_ for.

As if the world wasn't enough.

But sometimes… sometimes a superhero needed a little extra motivation, and Tony wasn't ashamed of that. It didn't make him a bad man, to be _human_.

"Okay. I'm okay," Tony finally mumbled after he'd allowed himself his brief moment of being human. Now it was time to be _more_. Tony pulled back and away, patting Steve on the cheek and then leaning forward and slightly upward to place a brief kiss on Steve's lips. He smirked a little at the faint blush that he could see appearing on Steve's cheeks, not used to showing affection like this in front of others—not yet, at least—and Tony felt himself calming down.

He took a half step back, grabbing onto Steve's hands as he did so, and said, "It's the Chitauri, Bruce says. He's up in the Command center." Steve took it a lot better than Tony did, but he knew, from their late-night nightmare watches over the years, that Steve had yet to rid of himself of the fear and horror of that battle. Of its sights and sounds and smells and just… _everything_.

Time travel via ice block? Sure. Alien invasion? A little harder to handle.

"Alright," Steve said, nodding once, squeezing Tony's hands, and then stepping back and adjusting his dual shields. "Where do they need us?"

"Bruce, where do you need us?" Tony repeated into the comm, knowing the other man was listening, even though Tony had ignored him during his too-long freak out.

"Front and center, outside the gates. You and Steve. I've got a few others headed out there to meet this… someone, who seems to be arguing with Thor right now…" Bruce trailed off, as if he were splitting his attention.

"Where do you need Sif and Heimdall?" Tony cut in, already walking towards the door. Steve was setting his new communicator up as he walked as well.

"We'd like them to meet up with Brunnhilde outside the west gate. She's already started to issue orders to the Aesir but they don't have near as much experience as those two do. They'll be of use there. That's where I'm going, here in a minute after I… wrap things… up."

"Alright, we're on our way now. Who's in Command when you leave?"

"Command falls to you and Steve out in the field, Brunnhilde with her people, and one of the Aesir techs, Inge, will be relaying info to all three of you if and when you need it."

"Got it. Anything else."

"No. Go kick some ass."

"That's something else."

" _Tony._ Go."

"Aye aye, Stark out."

"Good luck, Bruce," Steve added. He'd obviously finally figured the new piece of tech out.

"And you, Cap," Bruce replied, before shutting the comm down on his end. Tony noticed Steve's grimace at the nickname, but made no remark of it.

"Let's go," Steve told the room at large.

"Sif, Heimdall, you're wanted at the west gate with Brunnhilde. We've got Chitauri all around in addition to an unknown assailant at the front gates."

Sif and Heimdall nodded to them both and slipped out of the room, Sif shaking her hand out and calling her sword to her from basically nowhere—she'd never explained that trick to him, no matter how much he begged and begged—and Heimdall grabbing his from where he'd propped it up next to the doorway. Both of them were already armored up. Honestly, the Aesir could give the Boy Scouts a run for their money for always being prepared.

Tony led Steve out the door and to a side entrance into the compound's inner courtyard, and then called the suit up fully, except the faceplate, and opened his arms to Steve. "Want a lift?" he asked, adding in a waggle of his eyebrows just for levity's sake.

Steve smiled, just a little—obviously distracted some, and listening to the info being given to them through the comms—and came to stand by Tony's side, one boot on one ofTony's, and his arm wrapped around the suit's waist. "Let's do this," he said firmly, his command tone starting to slip in.

Tony grinned at him, pecked him on the cheek just to see that blush again, dropped his faceplate, and away they went.

It had been a long time since he'd carried Steve like this, a long time since they'd truly fought by each other's side—during the Battle of Wakanda they'd been on opposite ends of the battlefield—and it was weird… but nice.

Within seconds, however, Tony was focused on the appalling sight before him: the Chitauri.

There was no wormhole in sight—thank the fucking gods—and only a single ship which was too small to be a mothership, but too big to be anything but a carrier vessel for troops. The Chitauri, it seemed, had already disembarked from smaller transportation vessels and formed in lines around the compound. They hadn't been able to access the compound itself due to the flak guns he'd set around it, influenced by the Iron Dome, but they were sure as hell starting to press at the walls. It looked like they'd landed further out and then advanced on the cordon of Aesir who had been put into place by Brunnhilde.

All in all, it was looking like things were under control for the moment.

"There," Steve said as he pointed.

Tony angled himself and dropped them hard, but controlled, beside Thor, Steve letting go and stepping away just as James and Nat made their careful way out the front gates, dressed to the nines in their own gear.

It seemed like they weren't that late to the party.

"Proxima Midnight," Thor growled, the air sizzling hot around him, lightning climbing all over his frame—holy _shit_ , Tony thought—and charging the air all around. "You and your kind are not welcome here. This is Midgard, and Thanos and the Black Order have no claim."

"Ah, but neither do the Aesir, _Thor All-Father_ ," the bluish-grey skinned woman who was obviously Proxima Midnight said. "Thanos lays claim to Mjolnir, and I am here to carry out his claim."

"By what right does Thanos—" Thor practically spit out the name, goodness, "—lay claim to _my_ weapon, a weapon of Asgard?"

Tony looked closely at Thor, even as he raised his gauntlets just a little in front of him. Mjolnir was at Thor's waist, not in his hand—instead, his axe was held in a low guard in front of him, lightning racing up and down its surface. He recalled that Thor had said Mjolnir felt odd in his hands now, but that he felt just as odd if he wasn't carrying it. He had been having trouble coming to terms with the levels his power had reached; something about Mjolnir acting as a choke to the full breadth of power he could access. But he had been so long with it…

Tony could understand it in a way, but not quite fully enough.

"By claim of might," Proxima Midnight replied smugly, hefting her three-pronged… spear? More like a trident. She hefted her trident, though did not point it at any of them. She seemed calm, cool, composed… like Pepper at a meeting with a corporation they were planning a hostile takeover for. Well—except for the blue hair coming out the top of her grey horn-helmet thing, the weird blue-grey skin, and the white, grey, and black armor. Pepper definitely looked a hell of lot better than this… woman? He supposed alien races could have similar genders, just like Asgard did… well, sort of. That was a whole lot of weird if you looked too deep.

Thor threw his head back and laughed, the sound coming across as nothing less than mocking. The lightning crackled along his face, through his skin, around his eyes, and there was a hint of thunder in the tone of his voice… it was vaguely horrifying but also fascinating to watch, but Tony drew his attention quickly back to Proxima Midnight, making sure to keep his eyes upon her. Steve shifted just a little beside him, obviously a little uncomfortable with the fact they hadn't started fighting yet.

"I have claimed Mjolnir, as is my right," Thor denounced. "She is mine, and I am hers, as we always have been."

"Ah, tut tut, Thor All-Father; she no longer calls to you. She is open for the taking. We of power can _feel_ it," Proxima Midnight drawled, a smile tugging at her lips. This time when she hefted her trident she pointed it right at Thor, then proceeded to point it at each of them—Tony, Steve, Nat, James—and then back again to Thor. She held the trident steady, her muscles obviously strong and used to its weight in her hand. "Do any of you challenge me for her?" she demanded.

There was a moment of tense—but also shocked—silence at her pronouncement and challenge, and then Steve took a single powerful and assured step forward, his voice dropped low and threatening as he said, "I do."

"I do," Natasha said, her voice cutting into the silence that followed.

"I do," Bucky challenged with a laugh, hefting his gun in one hand and rolling his cybernetic shoulder.

"I do," Tony said with a grin that could be heard even with the voice modulator. He took a step forward and placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. He squeezed once, and then let his hand rest loosely upon it.

"We do," Thor said with confidence and even a slight hint of fondness, though he never took his eyes off of Proxima Midnight's gaze.

Tony would have laughed his ass off at the whole thing if he'd been younger. He still might have, but honestly… it was _nice_. It was nice that they were all fighting together again, even with some missing from their ranks, and even if the sounds of the Aesir fighting—and thankfully _holding off_ —the Chitauri in the background was making him a little jumpy.

He had to focus, and this… this was a good thing to focus on.

Fighting side by side with old and new allies alike, just like they had so long ago…

 _Fuck_ , but it felt nice.

"Then you will die," Proxima Midnight announced, cool as could be. As if they were ants beneath her feet.

"Oh my _god_ , could you get any more cliché?" Bucky interjected, voice risen high with disbelief. "Fight us or leave, bitch."

Proxima Midnight said nothing. She simply charged, trident kept low and in front of her. Her speed was incredible, looking much like how T'Challa or Steve could move across a battlefield.

A shot rang out in the air, and Tony watched with a groan of disbelief as his armor-piercing bullet simply glanced off of her armguard. Either it was superior armor, or there was something more going on.

Bucky growled and threw his rifle to the ground at his feet, and then lunged forward, arms kept low but open, ready for anything.

At his side, Steve sprung out and towards the… the woman who was attacking them, the _monster_ , in truth, and Tony knew that he had only seconds before the two of them closed on her and he lost a clear shot at her. Flying into the air, he powered his repulsors with a simple thought and then, with the help of Friday, aimed and let loose with both gauntlet repulsors.

"Fri—"

"Already got it, boss," Friday's pleasant voice cut in. "Minimal damage to her skin and hair, but your repulsors have managed to scorch off a good portion of her helmet." Tony watched in frustration as the tall woman brushed off the remains of her left horn as if it were nothing, letting himself fall back slightly so that he could get a better aerial assessment of the fight taking place immediately below him.

"You said minimal damage to her skin and hair, Fri. That means some damage. And wasn't her horn helmet thingy part of her skin? Come on, Fri, what's that mean?"

"I'm still trying to get an accurate assessment, boss."

"I know you don't like to guess, but give me your best one, okay Fri?"

"Repulsor damage to skin only seemed to penetrate two layers, other than her horn, but I am unsure if her physiology is similar enough to ours as to accurately assess how many other layers her race has. Her hair was singed but did not immediately combust. It seems to be falling away as it's touched, however, boss."

"Good girl, Fri. That's good enough. Keep that up for me with any new info you get, and I'll keep poking away at her."

"You got it, boss!"

They watched as Thor sent a bolt of crackling lightning towards her, and Friday relayed the report to him—third degree burns covering her entire left thigh, penetrating through four layers of skin, armor sloughed off but only in a localized area, no hint of electrocution to the nerves, though Friday's sensors might not be calibrated right for Proxima Midnight's biology. Then, within seconds of the lightning blast, both James and Steve closed in with her, Nat circling in behind them, waiting to see what her options were.

Steve avoided the first lunge of her trident, aimed straight towards his chest, by swiveling his torso around. As the trident moved past him, he grabbed the shaft with both hands and planted his feet, shifting low and then… there! He threw Proxima Midnight clean over his head, landing on his back as he did so and releasing the trident's shaft at the last moment. Proxima Midnight flew past him and landed with a thud in the dirt, dust and debris thrown high into the air upon contact.

James flung himself past Steve and onto the alien woman, pummelling his mechanical fist into her face, punch after punch after punch after—

"Boss!" Friday sounded a little alarmed, and she pushed right on ahead. "I've analyzed the compound on the tips of the tridents prongs. It's poison, of an unknown variant, but I recognize some of the elements composing its makeup."

Tony was immediately patching himself through to the localized comms. "Everyone! Mind the trident prongs. They're poisoned."

"Priority on removing the trident from our target. Warning repeated: poison on trident," Steve seconded Tony without even questioning him, and Tony felt a little thrill at that. But for no more than a second, because they had to lock this down quickly.

"Fuck!" James' voice rang out on the comms. Tony looked down and watched as Proxima Midnight was finally able to leap to her feet. She had obviously created the space by attacking James, as he had thrown himself down and away, into the dirt, one gloved hand clutching at the upper part of his mechanical arm. "I'm okay, I'm okay," he muttered quickly into the comm. "Could use a slight distraction, though, if you're willing.

Immediately Thor and Steve leapt after Proxima Midnight, intent on removing the trident from Proxima Midnight's person. It was a fucking sight to _behold_ , Thor and Steve teaming up together to take out the bad guy, gal, lady, person, _whatever_. Point was, it was fucking beautiful. They moved in sync, knowing each other's fighting styles even after all this time, with a few minor adjustments. Thor crackling with lightning, bouncing some off of Steve's new dual shields to get at Proxima Midnight from angles she couldn't quite expect, twirling Stormbreaker expertly in one hand as he formed a spear of lightning in the other—holy _fuck_ —and Steve… Steve, wow. Steve pressing forward with his shields, using the bladed tips at the very ends as a way to keep Proxima Midnight on the defensive.

"Boss, you might want to take a look at White Wolf; his arm's pretty mangled and he needs your assistance." Friday's voice drew him away from the fight and he dropped down until he was within touching distance of James, who had fallen back with Nat to where they could take a better look at the damage without the chance of being skewered.

"That's fucking _vibranium_ ," Tony exclaimed. It was obviously rather unnecessarily said, because James and Nat both looked at him as if he was a complete idiot. "Here, let me take a look. Quickly now, chop chop," Tony said as he retracted his faceplate and refined his gauntlets until they were thinner and more tactile. Much better than blunt fingers.

James pulled his gloved hand away and both Tony and Nat hissed as they watched the leather completely disintegrate, the skin underneath red and chapped looking, dark blue lines spreading away from the wound.

"James…" Nat whispered as she grabbed at his wrist to hold his palm steady under her gaze.

"The serum's hitting it, I'll be fine. I can barely feel it other than the serum doing its thing," he replied through gritted teeth. "Tony, what's the status on the arm?"

Tony couldn't reply as he had a wire stuck between his teeth, but he still tried to mumble around it. Obviously, based on their faces, they couldn't understand a damn thing he said, so he just continued on as fast as he could to get the arm at least baseline functional again, keeping part of his attention on Thor and Steve as they called out to each other occasionally on the comms.

He'd bypassed the mobility connectors, getting James to clench his fist and move it around a few times by the time they heard a shout and the ground trembled beneath their feet.

Tony, James, and Natasha all turned around, ready to jump back into the fray, when they saw what was before their eyes.

Steve and Thor were slowly sinking to the ground, Proxima Midnight standing just beyond them, trident pointed at one, then the other, one, then the other…

"What is—"

"Boss, if I may, it looks like… like she's increased the gravitational force operating on both Commander Rogers and Thor All-Father. I am sensing similar energy readings from Proxima Midnight's weapon, boss."

"She's… what?" He couldn't fucking believe it. But it was happening. He could see the readings for himself on his HUD.

And then Proxima Midnight was snarling, reaching out towards Mjolnir, and Tony suddenly understood.

Oh holy _shit_. Mjolnir functioned the same—or close enough—as the readings he was seeing coming from Thor and Steve as they collapsed to the ground, the weight of their bodies acting against them and making it a struggle just to breathe—they didn't have much time at all. Mjolnir was basically a black hole with, of course, some weird and unexplainable additional stuff that made it _not_ a black hole at the same time. But still. Close enough for what she was doing to just might work. Or to at least create a field around it that would allow her to cart off Mjolnir like the fucking Ark of the Covenant. Maybe. Holy _shit_. And Proxima Midnight was pointing her trident towards it, and the readings were completely flipping, reversing the gravimetric readings coming from the area surrounding Mjolnir, and doing the opposite of what she'd done to Thor and Steve…

No.

He couldn't let Proxima Midnight have Mjolnir.

And she was about to, worthy or not.

Tony didn't even think about it. His faceplate slammed shut in the same moment as he threw himself forward, repulsors rearranging themselves so as to provide more power. He couldn't let her have it. He _couldn't_.

He spared a single glance for Thor and Steve who were lying prone on the ground to either side of Mjolnir, looking pained and as if their lungs were gasping for air—though at least no worse than moments before, Friday told him, so they would keep—and Tony… Tony saw _red_.

But he was only a bare few seconds from reaching the weapon, and so he had to drag his gaze away from his… from Steve, and from Thor, and focus. He had to focus.

So, as those bare seconds seemed to stretch into eternity, he focused on the sadistic smile on Proxima Midnight's painted face.

He focused on how she was stalking towards the weapon, trident falling to the side in a casual grip, because she obviously felt so assured of her _victory_.

He focused on the rage bubbling up within him; the rage at her, at what she had done, at how she had hurt _his Steve_ , at the Chitauri, at fucking _Thanos_.

He focused on sending the nanites in the suit into a different configuration as he approached, cutting off power to his repulsors and letting himself fall into a half-crouch with Mjolnir in front of him before standing up fully and blasting Proxima Midnight with the unibeam.

He focused on the surprise on her ugly-ass horned face as she staggered back a couple of steps, and he focused on how Friday was informing him that all gravimetric readings on Mjolnir—though not the god and super soldier behind him—had ceased, and readings had returned to baseline.

And then… and _then._

 _Then_ he placed a proprietary hand on Mjolnir, so that Proxima Midnight would get the fucking picture that she _could not have it_ , and… and Mjolnir shifted as he wrapped one gauntleted hand around it. It wasn't a minor shift. It wasn't a _wiggle_.

Tony looked down in surprise at the weapon, and then he decided to test out a hypothesis. Tony reached down and placed his other gauntleted hand upon the shaft of the weapon, and…

With a lurch that felt like it was coming from his navel, Mjolnir was off the ground, lifted straight up and into his hands and—

 _Holy fuck, Tony fucking Stark was lifting Mjolnir of all the fucking things in the galaxy._

Tony had to do a double take, checking his readings and looking with wide eyes upon what he couldn't believe he was seeing.

"Friday, are there any…?" he whispered, keeping one eye on Proxima Midnight now as she started to circle him, expression murderous and her eyes practically spitting hatred towards him.

"Nope, boss. No reversed gravitational field located anywhere around Mjolnir or your person. There's nothing holding her up but you. She's _all yours_ , boss man." Her voice was practically _proud_.

He…

"Impossible," Proxima Midnight spat, and then she was on him, lifting her trident towards him and aiming straight for the central arc reactor, having obviously assessed that it was a weak spot—if this had been a year and a half ago, she would have been right.

Tony had neither hand free, both of them still occupied with holding onto Mjolnir, but instinct was a powerful driver, so he lifted both hands, Mjolnir coming up in a swing and impacting straight up into the underside of the weapon being aimed right for his chest.

He could barely feel a thing as the trident shattered upon contact—but Proxima Midnight certainly could.

She dropped the splinters of her weapon with a screech, clutching her hands to her chest and throwing herself back and away from Tony. Adrenaline coursing through him and the sight of her attempting to scrabble back and away without placing her hands upon the ground had laughter bubbling up from deep within him, and he chose to let it go, chose to let it out rather than hold it inside.

She wasn't a threat anymore, wasn't anywhere close to it, and so Tony took the time to marvel at what had just happened while Friday kept an eye on the shocked and beaten-down alien in front of him.

Tony couldn't quite wrap his mind around what had happened. He had… he had lifted Mjolnir? He'd been able to? That was unexpected, to say the least. More like _impossible_. This whole time he'd been accompanying Steve up north to see if he could lift the godly weapon, and here… here Tony was, hammer in hand.

How was _he_ worthy? Tony knew he'd turned over a new leaf the last few years, but surely… there must be something wrong with the weapon, Tony decided. Something Sif had done to it in its mending which had interfered with its… whatever properties they were that determined someone's worthiness to wield the weapon—be it a spell or law of science or a quirk of nature.

That had to be it.

"Boss—" Friday interrupted his musings.

"I see her," he cut in. Proxima Midnight was gathering herself to stand, pain mingling with hatred and shock on her features, hands shaking still from the impact of their weapons against each other. Tony took a step towards her, hefting Mjolnir in one hand and gathering power into his repulsor as he lifted his other hand, palm out towards his enemy.

But before he could do anything about her, she was gone. She'd reached for a band on her wrist and within nanoseconds a beam of white-blue light had engulfed her. He could feel a rush of displaced air, and then the beam seemed to just… pop her out of existence, the broken pieces of her trident giving chase as the beam retracted back into the sky. The circle-shaped ship it had come from, previously hovering high above the compound, engaged its engines and darted off into space.

Tony whirled around immediately at the coughing and groaning coming from behind him, then ran to Steve's side as he saw the man struggling to sit up from where he lay on the ground. Thor, a few feet away, had already made his way to sitting upright, but Steve was having a little bit more trouble with it, was just a little bit slower than the god.

"Steve—" Tony rasped out, reaching for the man with one steadying hand behind his back, the other dropping Mjolnir at his side before he gripped one of Steve's hands within its hold. He retracted the entire suit of armor back within himself, breathing in the fresh air—which was great, sure, but mostly he wanted to breathe in the scent of _Steve_ , so that he could know that he was there, he was real, he was _okay_.

Or as close to okay as anyone could be after all of that.

"Tony, oh my _God_ , Tony, you did it," were the first words out of Steve's mouth, and then he was drawing Tony down into a nearly bone-crushing hug, balance shored up by Steve's body beneath him where he was braced, sitting, on the ground.

"Well _damn,_ boy, I didn't think you had it in you," James' ridiculous voice interrupted before Tony could reply, the sounds of steps coming closer even over the sound of the waning battle in the areas surrounding the compound.

Tony groaned and buried his face in Steve's neck, enjoying the feeling of Steve's arms wrapping themselves around him. He just wanted to disappear. He didn't want to explain that it had been a fluke. Didn't want Thor to confirm it. Didn't want to see the looks on everyone else's faces when they understood that what they thought had happened hadn't _really_ happened.

Didn't want to have to process it for himself, truly.

"Tony." That was Nat's voice, and Tony just burrowed himself even more into Steve's embrace, forcing the man to rearrange them so that Tony was sitting between Steve's bent legs, curled up against his chest, face pressed tight against the scaled material. He didn't care how uncomfortable it was, or that the material would create all sorts of weird lines on his cheek and forehead, he just needed a little bit of a bubble for a moment. Needed some space to process everything.

"Guys, give us a bit, will you?" Steve asked as he brought a hand up to run through Tony's sweaty hair. That was nice, that felt good.

"Sure," Nat replied.

"We'll check in with Sif and Bruce," James added, and then they were walking away. That left—

"I felt her sing to you."

Thor.

Tony grumbled unintelligibly, trying to complete his octopus impression around Steve, but the traitor pushed at Tony's shoulders, forcing him to turn around in his arms enough to look at Thor.

There was nothing but respect in his eyes, so Tony stopped trying to turn back around, instead sitting up between Steve's knees.

"She wanted you to touch her, wanted you to lift her, and she felt… _happy_ when you did," Thor continued with a smile.

Tony couldn't process this. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. But… "But," Tony responded, "it has to be a fluke. Somehow, what happened…" He searched for the right words, ones he could swear had been there just a few moments ago. "It has to be a mistake. Something didn't get fixed up quite right when Sif repaired her. That has to be it."

"Tony," Steve tried to interrupt, placing a warm hand on the back of Tony's shirt, but Thor spoke right over him.

"The Lady Sif, Heimdall, and I all checked it over in the days since I arrived. She was repaired perfectly, though it took much time and effort on the part of my shield-sister. Her enchantments are all intact, and have been renewed by myself." A hint of loss entered his voice there, and Tony was struck, once more, at the fact that Odin had passed and _Thor_ now had the power of all of Asgard and the Nine Realms. "So I assure you, Anthony Stark, that Mjolnir was in her right mind, if you will, when she chose you. She no longer calls to me, no longer answers _my_ call—she is yours."

And Thor demonstrated right there, one hand splayed towards the haft of the hammer, that Mjolnir did not, in fact, come to his hand when called. Tony could feel a buzzing in the back of his mind, down his spine, suffusing his chest, and then it disappeared as soon as Thor lowered his arm.

Then he flinched as _something_ ripped through him at the touch of Thor's hand to the hammer's haft.

"But I'm a human. Humans aren't capable of lifting Mjolnir," Tony protested, trying to deny what he was seeing, what he was _feeling_ deep within him. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to Mjolnir, curling his fingers around it— _her_ , Thor had said—and pulling her into his lap. She felt both light and heavy in his hands… his very _human_ hands. Well, sort of human. He wasn't really sure anymore, he supposed. "Is it because of Extremis?" At Thor's inquiring tilt of his head, he explained a little more. "Right, you weren't here. It's a sort of… serum I injected myself with to help me control my armor. You saw me call the armor from out of nowhere, right? Yeah, well, that, and it helps heal me and—"

"No, Anthony, it is not that," Thor interrupted softly. "It has happened before that humans have become worthy of Aesir weapons. They were never quite like Mjolnir, no, who has only ever remained within the royal line—" Thor choked a little on that, and Tony reached his free hand out towards Thor, offering it to him to grip if he wished. He did, his fingers clenching hard, but not so hard he couldn't handle it, and Tony sent up a silent prayer to… _whoever_ … that somehow, as much as he disliked the damn man, Loki would beat the odds against him and return from his mission, alive and successful.

Steve wiggled his arm free and clasped his hand over Tony's and Thor's, squeezing with an offer of comfort, and Tony's heart filled up with love for the man wrapped around him, who was there for him, there for Thor, there for _everyone_.

Steve was a good man— _he_ should have been the one to lift Mjolnir, if it no longer belonged to Thor.

Before he could even open his mouth, Thor had pulled his hand back, settling on the ground a little more comfortably, and spoke: "But it does not mean that she cannot pass on to a mortal, if the time is right. It has been done before with our other weapons who choose their guardians, their wielders, so why not Mjolnir?" he asked rhetorically, voice filled with musing.

Thor ran a hand over his shorn hair, and Tony was suddenly struck by how _tired_ he looked. It had been a long few months for Thor, it seemed, from the little he had heard so far in the day since they'd arrived. The loss of Asgard, the loss of his father, the attack by Thanos on his people and the way they had barely escaped—though not all of them, and Tony could see the weight of all the loss upon Thor's shoulders, in his _eyes_.

It hurt to see.

"Why me?" Tony asked, instead of putting voice to the thoughts of loss.

"Why _not_ you?" Steve asked from behind him, shifting enough so that he could tilt Tony's head around and give him a soft, short, chaste kiss upon his lips.

"I—" Tony tried to explain exactly why not, but suddenly didn't want to give voice to all of the reasons he felt he was _absolutely_ unworthy.

He was mature enough to know he'd never accept it, but apparently it was still the truth. Apparently, by some fluke, or magic, or _whatever_ , he had guardianship of one of the greatest weapons of Asgard. He knew that whatever he said, Steve would tell him exactly _why_ he was worthy of this weighty gift, this weighty _responsibility_. He remembered T'Challa's words to him before he left, how the king had tried to tell him to look at himself as a possible candidate, and how he had brushed off the man at the time.

But… but if T'Challa, if Steve, if _Thor_ thought that it was possible…

Maybe.

That was all he could say for the moment: maybe. He would think on it.

For now they had other things to do, other monsters to beat, the planet, the _galaxy_ , to make safe.

"What now?" he asked as he stood suddenly. He looked around them and could see the Chitauri ship limping away back into the atmosphere, the battle winding down around them. He reached behind him to offer a hand to help Steve up. Even though he knew Steve didn't need it, it made him happy when he accepted the hand and pulled himself up, wiping off his uniform once he was upright and standing.

Thor stood as well, hefting his large axe up alongside him, and Tony caught sight of runes gleaming along its metal surface. It was a beautiful weapon, one worthy of the man who was now King of Asgard, the man who he hoped was still his friend.

"We clean up," Steve started, slowly. "Then we meet, us and the other leaders, and determine what resources we have on hand, and what our options are. Now that we have the Asgardians—sorry, the _Aesir_ —on our side, on Earth, we have more of an advantage against Thanos and his allies. And Thor said something about his brother—" His lips twisted just a little, and Tony silently agreed with the sentiment. "—gathering allies to come to our aid. I'm not sure how we beat Thanos, but—"

Thor grinned and hefted his axe. "With Stormbreaker, my friends. The _Godkiller_. It is one of its titles for a reason, crafted by the ones who made Mjolnir. And—" His eyes glinted, and he angled the axe around so that both Tony and Steve could see the round grooves on the pole, the rear portion, of the weapon. Tony's eyes widened and Steve's breath hitched. Thor continued. "—Eitri, the Dwarf King, had always intended for Stormbreaker to have the chance at housing the stones. He had a feeling that one day our time would come… not to _use_ the stones, not if we didn't have to, but to guard them in our safekeeping, in our vault, until such a time as we could hide them again. And that time of guardianship has come."

Silence enveloped them as Thor finished speaking, the sounds of the battle's aftermath disappearing into simple background noise.

"Holy _shit_ , we might just have a chance," Steve whispered, awed.

"That we might," Tony agreed, eyes riveted on those little grooves.

Thor broke the spell surrounding them by settling the weapon on his back, moving it from out of their riveted gazes, and laughing once more. He reached forward and clasped a hand on one each of Steve and Tony's shoulders. "Come, let us plan. The Titan must pay for what he has done, here, and throughout the rest of the galaxy." Then he dropped his hands after a final squeeze and started to walk towards the compound's gate.

Tony and Steve were left to stare at each other. They did so for one beat, two beats, taking in each other's sweaty, grimy appearances, and then they were wrapping their arms around each other, breathing each other's scents in, and not caring one wit about the dirt, the sweat, the smells—any of it. Tony breathed in the scent of _Steve_ , revelled in the feel of his body, safe and secure in his arms and not under the influence of that _vile_ creature, Proxima Midnight. Steve was here, Steve was his, and he was Steve's, and Tony was left reeling, wondering what exactly he would have done without Steve in his life.

"You make me a better person," Tony whispered into Steve's ear, then buried his face in Steve's neck as he felt a tear spill free from his eyes.

Steve was having none of that. He pulled back, framing Tony's face with both of his large hands, hot against his skin, and captured and held Tony's gaze. "No. You made _yourself_ a better person, Tony. And I'll repeat that every day if I have to, forever. I will; you know I'll do it."

Tony laughed. He knew how stubborn Steve was. He knew he would do it. And though he might be uncomfortable with the whole situation, he let it be. He would figure it out. He had time. _They_ had time. "Forever?" Tony whispered, and Steve reached up with his thumb to swipe at another tear that had escaped Tony's eye.

"Yeah, Tony. Forever. If we can stand each other that long," Steve confirmed with a quirk of his lips. "We've got this."

Tony smiled and pressed forward, making contact with Steve's lips and pouring everything he felt at those words into the kiss. Forever. Yeah, they could try that. They really could.

Steve pulled back and dropped his hands in order to pick Tony's up with them. "Now come on, let's get inside before all the seats are taken." Tony smile widened in response to Steve's, and he started to take a step towards the compound, but Steve tugged him to a stop before he could take more than a couple steps. "Nuh-uh," Steve smirked. "Not without your fancy new hammer."

Tony raised an eyebrow at the teasing tone, but dropped one of Steve's hands and turned to look back at Mjolnir, still resting there where he had left it on the ground.

Tony lifted his arm, palm out towards the hammer.

Nothing.

Steve laughed, and Tony's heart clenched at the sound of it. It was beautiful to hear Steve sound so… happy, despite what had happened around them. Despite what had happened between them in the past.

Tony huffed and walked towards Mjolnir, pausing before he could touch it. "Well, I guess I'm still a plain old human as far as _that_ goes," Tony grumbled without heat.

He reached down and let his hands wrap around the haft of the hammer, one hand still gripped tight in Steve's, and it felt… it felt _right_.

His world had shifted in the last few weeks, but it was a good shift. The right kind. One he needed. He had been incomplete before, but now…

It wasn't because of Mjolnir, though the hammer did feel _right_ in his hands.

No… no, it was the man at his side, facing the enemy with him, fighting with and _for_ him…

 _Steve_ was what had been missing, and now that he had him, he wouldn't give him up without a fight.

And he would fight harder for Steve than he had for anything else in his life.

He would fight the world, he would fight the galaxy…

But Tony also knew he didn't have to—Steve would take him just as he was. Steve would take plain old Tony Stark, and wouldn't have him any other way.

"I'm glad I get to spend the end of the world with you," Tony said seriously, though with a smile at his choice of words.

"So am I, Tony, so am I," Steve said after a moment. He tugged Tony forward, and they started walking towards the compound, hand in hand, smiles on their faces. "But let's try to stop the end of the world from happening anyway."

* * *

 **Note: Well there it is! Thank you so much for reading!**

 **The art is AMAZING and can be found on my or Maniibear's Tumblr pages under the fic's title-please give it a reblog if you liked either the art or the fic!**

 **I hope that you liked my contribution to this year's Reverse Bang Challenge. Please check out the other works in the collection on AO3 and give them some love!**

 **Reviews feed the soul. Let me know what you think. :)**


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